


Steal Ahead

by chashmish



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depressive Thoughts, Guilt, M/M, Reasonably Slow Burn, Recovery, Reluctant Friends to Real Friends to Lovers, Thesis to Antithesis to Synthesis, a litany of long-overdue emotionally-charged conversations, ok sorry, surviving under late capitalism, various OCs so Goro can have actual relationships and friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2019-12-18 08:45:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 49,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18246413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chashmish/pseuds/chashmish
Summary: One year after evading a grim demise, Goro Akechi's managed to find his footing in a post-Thieves world... kind of. Aside from the use of sarcasm and the surprisingly sage advice of a self-help book, Goro's still not sure of the right way to handle the weight of his regrets, his obligation to the world at large, or the matter of his... feelings... for Ren Amamiya. But in the midst of bleak confusion, a single truth is straightforward: sometimes it's not about fate, angel numbers, or the caprices of false gods. Sometimes, it's just that the only path leads forward- so, with the chance you're given, you steal ahead.(Four years in Goro's life post-canon, featuring reluctant alliances, childhood education, politics, pining, small steps, and more.)





	1. the year of keeping together

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone and welcome to my attempt at post-canon slowish-burn akeshu. I told myself I would never try to put Band-Aids on canon in this way but I felt an unavoidable urge so here we are. a few things:  
> 
> 
>   * this fic begins around one year post-canon and will take place over a period of four years. this first chapter covers one year. 
>   * in this fic, Goro is hard-of-hearing (permanent hearing loss in one ear) and wears a hearing aid. I am not hard-of-hearing, and although I am making every effort to do my research about what life for someone w/ Goro’s condition is like, I am definitely prone to fucking up. if you have any knowledge regarding the topic and have a correction about what I’ve written, don’t hesitate to let me know! 
>   * I will address any specific content warnings that need to be addressed in the beginning notes for each chapter! 
>   * this fic presents self-care type advice within the text to complement Goro’s point of view in a way that will become clear. although I’m using my own feelings and experiences to write what I believe to be pretty reasonable messages, none of this is intended as specific mental health advice. I’m not a professional or anything and I’m only using this kind of within-the-text content as a literary device. 
> 

> 
>   
> this fic has been a Long time coming and I’ve had a lot of fun writing it so far! comments and kudos are always appreciated to help me stay motivated to get through this thing. thanks a ton for reading!!  
>  **!!! this chapter contains a brief description of a panic attack and referenced/implied suicidal thoughts**  
>  and big thanks to asa (alsahm on ao3) for the beta!

...from _Dr. Watanabe’s Guide to Finding a New You,_ Chapter 3: _“_ The Transformation Continues!"

> Unhappy with your relationships? Feel like you aren’t being heard? There’s a surprising possible cause for this problem: You just might talk too much!
> 
> Pay attention to the way you speak to the important people in your life. Do you ever find yourself talking on and on… but not saying what really matters? Sometimes, sharing too much can be a way to avoid sharing what _needs_ to be shared.  
> 
> What’s the solution? Try listening first!
> 
> I like to call it the _Rule of Silence_ : Once you’ve mastered listening to _yourself_ and paying close attention to your own feelings, you’ll be better able to appreciate the valuable input the people in your life have to give. When you become a supportive listener, other people will appreciate your consideration and be there for you, too. Seek a harmonious balance of external and internal, and positive feelings and experiences will follow!

* * *

Shortly after Goro’s deliverance he made a truly commendable effort to throw it all recklessly away by nearly getting into a straight-up physical altercation with a drunk outside a convenience store at four in the goddamn afternoon.

The man said something appropriately cliché, Goro remembers, like “watch where you’re going”. Or perhaps he swore at him– some little slight like that. Goro can’t really remember– but the fact remained that they brushed shoulders, bumped shoulders, even, and something in Goro that was coiled and waiting to strike unwound and he bit out something like “Do you have a problem with me?”, and in the next moment he had a grip around the man’s hand and in the moment after that he’d pinned him to the side wall of the store.

Combat reflexes, perhaps.

When it came to anger, Goro was sure he had it all down to a science, a miracle of compartmentalization. His rage was mechanical, a process that worked continuously under the surface, a force that gave direction. It was nothing that overwhelmed him– and that was something to be proud of, really. After all, he was going to fulfill his life’s purpose. And he was always, always in control.

By the time he realized he didn’t have a handle on that fury anymore, it was too late. Well, almost too late. He survived, after all.

He survived just to accost random strangers in public, apparently.

It wasn’t as if Goro wanted to hurt that man. Approaching the store, all he’d wanted was a cool drink from the store’s fridge. A soda, maybe.

And one more thing: a fight. Someone who would lash out and resist. Just something to feel.

But there was nothing in the drunk’s eyes but a bleary apathy. No fear, no anger. After that shove, he’d barely reacted to Goro’s manhandling at all.

It was a situation full of more awkwardness than pathos. Goro doesn’t know what he would’ve done if he didn’t hear someone’s voice call– first with recognition– “Akechi?”, and then, aghast incredulity– “Akechi!”

That day, he turned around to see Sae Niijima, wearing a heavy overcoat to guard against the January cold, looking professional and elegant and for all the world as if she wanted to kick his ass.

It wasn’t that big of a coincidence; they were supposed to meet for lunch nearby. Sae dragged him to a deserted deli. It was deserted, Goro soon realized, because the sandwiches were stale and the service subpar, but there was nobody else there and so it was the perfect place for a dressing-down.

Sae waited until they’d gotten their food set out in front of them, before saying, “Akechi– _Goro_ , you have to find a way to manage your anger.”

Goro was glowering, he remembers, in one of the ways he cultivated especially to make himself seem bigger. “And how do you suggest I do that?” he asked curtly. Like a child, with the whine in his voice and the pout on his lips, despite the haughty way he crossed his arms and the straightness of his posture. Always like a child (and remembering it now his face burns– maybe that’s a good sign, evidence of character growth... no, it’s just his long-buried conscience inconveniently making its hellish resurgence again. Whatever.)

He could see it in Sae’s gaze– her wariness, her discomfort. Even now he takes pleasure, sometimes, in the way she looks at him like she can’t place him– a villain with a hero’s face, a liar somewhere between man and boy. That's a way he's still powerful: he can still leave dichotomies in the dust.

“I want to be there for you– I _am_ there for you, but you need…” She sighed.

“Ms. Niijima, please.” Goro took a different tack and smiled, making himself look more reassuring. “If you’re afraid I’ll hurt someone–”

“That isn't it–”

“–then I’ll have to ask you not to worry. I’ve simply been a little stressed lately, and I expressed it improperly.”

“As I was trying to say–” She frowned at him; Sae detests being interrupted–  “I'm not worried about anything of the sort. You're no longer... being compelled.”

 _A deft use of the passive voice_ , Goro remembers thinking.

And she gave him the benefit of the doubt so easily. How… fascinating.

“So I have no reason to believe you would cause harm to anybody,” Sae continued. “I’m concerned because this kind of behavior will hurt _you_ , more than anyone else. Your refusal to go forward with the counseling that associate of Tae’s recommended–”  

Not this again. “Didn’t you say it yourself– that it would be easier if I took things at my own pace? I really am adjusting to it all. But sometimes I just–” He clicked his tongue. “There are occasionally lapses.”

Sae sat back. “Goro, it’s only been a month since…”

Failing to find a way to verbalize _since you helped to fell a false god after the Phantom Thieves defeated a cognitive version of your father_ , Sae gave up and switched to her usual practical approach. “I’m taking the case against Shido extremely seriously.”

“And I’ve told you that I can–”

She cut him off this time. “I wasn’t opposed to having you give testimony, but…” She sighed. “Proving the existence of a now-extinct hidden cognitive world in court has proved to be somewhat difficult.”

“There’s _more_ that I can–”

“Goro.” Sae’s voice carried an authoritative weight. “Leave this part of the decision-making to me. You’ve already shouldered far too much.”

“I’ve shouldered too much?” Goro couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m the _reason_ that too much _exists_.”

“That isn’t true,” said Sae– with a courtroom-style bluntness rather than any pity or consolation.

“I admit that it surprises me,” Goro said lightly, “that you seem to be content with my situation at the moment. After all, I am a criminal. Justice requires that I receive my due punishment. And yet here I am– a free man. Doesn't it bother you?”

Sae regarded him silently for a moment before replying in her crisp, businesslike voice. “Recent events have caused me to reconsider my notion of how justice should be applied.”

“Are you even reconsidering the principal maxim that offenders should be dealt with? Is that not the crux of our system, the reason for the 99.9% conviction rate? I'm aware you're considering a career change, but honestly–”

“That's enough,” Sae said sharply.

Goro fell silent.

“This isn’t what I wished to discuss.”

Of course he didn’t get an answer.

“You need to keep yourself safe. You can’t allow your emotions to impede your life in this way. If you’re asking me for suggestions, I’d say… either channel your feelings into something else, something productive–”

 _Productive?_ Goro remembers thinking with incredulity.

“–or just avoid things that make your anger worse for you.”

That was barely two months after it all happened. After it all stopped happening. After it started. After he was assigned to a hospital room, before the fight where he saw Robin Hood and Loki for the very last time.

And now… well, he’s alive. Somehow, he’s still alive.

* * *

There were lots of simple processes with which to busy himself in the aftermath. First he cut his hair. Then he changed his contacts to a deep brown color. He bought a whole box of disposable masks.

And soon it became unnecessary. Soon people stopped looking in his direction. It was uncanny, the speed at which everyone forgot his name.

So he put the brown contacts away and began to show his face. He kept his hair short; it’s easier to manage that way, and Goro likes being free of the weight on the back of his neck.

In the mirror, Goro examines his face. The dark circles under his eyes are still there; he’s given up covering them with concealer, though he still fastidiously applies under-eye creams nightly. He looks– he hates that he can’t ever seem to escape Ren’s voice, but Ren says now that he looks _intense,_ and Goro supposes that’s right. Without a facade of innocence to maintain, his sins are beginning to show on his face.

Before everything, people used to tell him he looked _creepy_ , with his observant, focused gaze, so he had forced it away– but sometimes, now, if he’s not careful, it reappears and kills his default, vapid smile.

Goro tries a grin and forces himself to keep it. He scrutinizes his face and decides he can still pass for charming– the power of conventional handsomeness. Already it’s like he can feel that persona returning. It’s still easy. But it makes him a little sick.

The older Goro gets, the more he feels like a child. He used to be powerful– despite everything, he was _strong_. And now he’s such a shell that he can’t even stand the sight of his own smile.

But there’s no use moping in front of the mirror. He has someone to meet for lunch.

As usual, he is alternately pleased and bitter that no one recognizes him on the train. There’s a high-school girl who looks his way and lets her eyes stall on him, like she sees something she likes. He feels a petulant urge to give her that dead-eyed stare and lets the muscles in his face go slack. He can’t scare her, though, she just wrinkles her nose and looks away.

He gets off at the right station and almost immediately sees Ren waiting in the corner when he goes up the escalator. Ren catches sight of him at the same time, and they hold each other's gazes as Goro approaches.

There’s a sharp, tense feeling in Goro’s stomach that rises when he sees Ren. Here comes the careful conversation, the saying of too much and the revealing of too little. Here comes the unavoidable truth, the reality that renders all of Goro's pretensions ineffective.

Finally Goro comes to a stop in front of him, and Ren straightens.

Goro speaks first. “Welcome back to Tokyo.”

Ren’s holding a can of coffee from the vending machine. He’s without his glasses, and he has his backpack slung over one shoulder. He scrutinizes Goro for a second, just a quick glance up-and-down, and smiles like he's thinking of a private joke. “It's like I never left.”

“You must be enjoying yourself,” Goro says, keeping his voice pleasantly neutral.

“Yeah. Nice to come visit before all the drama with entrance exams starts. Parents weren't too hard to convince.”

“I’m sure,” Goro says.

“So,” Ren says conversationally as they begin the walk towards the exit, “I tell you I’ll treat you to anything and you pick a food cart in the park.”

“I like it,” Goro says. That, and to think of it– himself and Ren at some ostentatious dinner joint, sitting in a booth with the lights dimmed– no. God _,_ no. "It's nice,” he adds. “And it reminds me of when I was younger."  
  
He’s almost certain that’s going to rankle Ren, so he takes some pleasure in saying it. He's not just being vindictive, though. Every other month or so when she could muster up the will, he and his mother would go for a walk in the park. Sometimes when there was enough money she’d buy him something from a stand, a rare treat he’d always beg for. Those were her good days, the only ones where she would even laugh openly, or smile at strangers.

Sure enough, Ren doesn’t quite frown, but his eyebrows furrow together, and he says, “Choosing the past, again?”

Goro almost retorts– but he remembers the Rule of Silence.

All right, time to go through the steps. Why is Ren saying what he’s saying? Because as Goro well knows, Ren doesn’t like it when Goro fixates on things he can’t change. Why does he feel that way? Because he is of the opinion that Goro’s eternal mental re-hashing of the past is _unhealthy_. How does Goro feel about all of that? Well, pissed off, first of all– pissed off that Ren feels entitled to voice his opinion on Goro’s choices, that he tends to act like a stubborn sanctimonious saint. But there’s also a part of him that thinks maybe Ren really does care, and another, deeper part that’s just bitter sorrow **,** and that all makes him want to…

Fuck. The final question: Has he _listened_ carefully enough to his own batshit, muddled _feelings?_  

...As is often the case these days, the answer is no _._ Best not to say anything.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ren says quickly, perhaps sensing he dodged a bullet when Goro didn’t reply. He holds up his hands in surrender. “Just saying, you’re missing the chance to bleed my wallet dry.” And then, after a pause, he adds, “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Goro says, kind of really hating the way the words taste in his mouth.

They get to Inokashira and walk leisurely along the paths until they get to an area with a few stalls. There’s a good amount of people here despite the heat, sitting or walking under the trees.

“The noodles from these stalls are always too…” murmurs Ren, trailing off before his culinary criticism can reach higher levels.

“You don’t come for the noodles, you come for the gyoza.”

“There are much better places to get gyoza, though.”

“You’re too picky with your food.”

“I just have taste buds, unlike some other people,” Ren says, grinning at him, and Goro rolls his eyes and almost smiles.

There’s a short line, and a moment after they join it, Ren suddenly says, “I almost forgot. Your gift.” Goro watches him open his jacket slightly and pull out a cream-colored envelope from the inner pocket. “Not from me,” he adds as he passes it to Goro.

An unnecessary addition, because Ren’s gift is the food, and because the envelope and the handwriting are familiar, and also because only one person writes him letters.  
  
“Why do you have it?” Goro asks as he takes it from him.

“Ran into her a few days ago. She misses you, you know. Wouldn’t hurt to reach out more often.”

“I talk to her. Often enough.”

Ren glances at him out of the corner of his eye for a moment, considering, before he looks away. "You two could just... e-mail. Send a fax, even. We live in the digital age.”

“I don’t like using the Internet,” Goro says, which is a lie, but he only checks news sites and forums now, mostly. Whatever. Ann– yes, Ann, who tentatively suggested using first names in an unprecedented overture of friendship, a request that caught Goro so off-guard that he agreed immediately– understands. It's because he mentioned to her, once, that he likes having things he can hold and keep, he likes the weight of physical objects in his hands– whatever. Not important right now; Ren wouldn't understand, anyway, him and his stubborn minimalism.

“Hang on, hold our place,” Ren says. “I’m going to throw this out.” He crushes the now-empty can of coffee in his hand and steps out of the line.

Goro opens the envelope and pulls out his letter. It isn't very long, taking up around a page-and-a-half of Ann’s cream-colored stationery. It begins with some kind but unfortunately factually incorrect well-wishes about how his friends (ha, okay) are glad he's around and celebrating (more like tolerating) his 20th, and he should make sure to treat himself to something nice (as if he deserves it).

He looks up from the page for a moment to steady himself. He needs to stop sarcastically mentally annotating and show Ann’s sincerity some appreciation.

Goro returns to the letter. The rest gives a brief update regarding what Ann’s been up to; there's a paragraph with an anecdote about a recent shopping trip. And then she asks about him, requesting a reply and reminding him that he knows her new mailing address.

_Or just text me whenever, and we can hang out! I'll take any excuse to get away from studying…_

Goro feels a stab of sympathy. Like Ren, Ann’s currently cramming for entrance exams **,** and from what she's told him, Goro knows she's never been good at review. Perhaps he could–

He feels a hand on his shoulder.

Goro turns around sharply, his guard up.

It’s a woman he doesn’t know. She’s speaking sharply, but she’s standing to his left, and the sound of her voice doesn’t carry. Goro feels paralyzed, suddenly, unable to comprehend, his world narrowing completely, reduced to one small breadth of space in a vacuum of sound.

Then, Ren’s voice, right by his right ear. “She’s saying it’s your turn.”

Ren’s words are like a call back to reality. Goro instantly unfreezes and turns to the woman. “Of course,” he says, and bows his head. “I’m sorry,” he adds, and thinks briefly of the mirror that morning, and gestures to the hearing aid in his ear. “I can’t hear very well.”

It’s an almost unnoticeable implant, the color of his skin, fitted perfectly inside his left ear, with an equally-innocuous receiver on the other side.

He’s always been very patient; able to adjust to anything. He heard ringing for hours and hours after the gunshot before there was nothing. _Single-sided sensorineural deafness, caused by traumatic injury to the left ear_ , Takemi said _._ His right ear still works. But his cognitive self aimed square at his forehead, and he barely managed to jerk right, out of the way.

The woman’s expression changes slightly. Ren squeezes his shoulder, lightly and only for a moment, before he drops his hand, and then the two of them turn towards the seller.

Ren buys two greasy cardboard trays of gyoza, four pieces in each.

It’s less muggy than usual for a June day, so they find an empty bench along the path, finding themselves leaning forward slightly, unconsciously, whenever a breeze blows past, as if to capture and keep the relief the cool wind brings. Goro quickly and mechanically finishes all the food on his tray. Slowly and halfheartedly, Ren eats two pieces of his own food before wordlessly passing Goro the rest.

Then Ren, watching people pass by ahead with lazy eyes, slowly begins to speak. Goro hasn't been in the presence of all Ren’s friends at once since the Yaldabaoth incident, has explicitly avoided it, in fact, and he has no desire to be fed the Former Phantom Thief Daily-Life Digest, but Ren is good at knowing how much to say. He talks about Morgana’s eating habits, he talks about Futaba’s classes at Kosei, he gives information simply and casually, without flair or much pathos. He mentions, not for the first time, his intention to study in Tokyo, and lapses back into silence without saying much more about himself.

“Won’t you miss home?” Goro asks.

“Not a big deal. Nothing much there, anyway.”

“I would’ve thought you’d be ready for an early retirement and an idyllic country life.” It’s a joke, obviously.

Ren chuckles lightly. “Yeah, no way.”

Of course. Ren is almost always bored. Something about his restlessness makes Goro ache.

“Hey,” Ren says, interrupting Goro’s thoughts.

“What?”

“Tell me about what you’ve been doing.”

Goro shifts and sits straighter and turns it on. “It’s kind of you to ask. I’ve been as well as can be expect–”

Ren doesn't even let him launch into his Spiel of Well-Adjustedness, choosing to interrupt instead. “Who do you talk to?”

“Ah–”

“Do you have friends? Confidants?” Ren asks, and then smiles to himself for some reason.

“...Sure.”

“Name one,” Ren says.

Goro says the first name he can think of. “Watanabe.” And then, feeling quite horrified by the self-parodying depths of being pathetic to which he's sunk, he falls silent.

Waiting for more and receiving nothing, Ren opts to raise his eyebrows and say “Okay.”

Goro swings one leg over the other and opens his mouth to say something sufficiently cheerful and accommodating, but before he can get a word out, Ren suddenly speaks up again.

“You know,” he says, “this whole time you’ve had that look on your face. Like you’re expecting something bad to happen.”  

Goro closes his mouth and opens it again. “I’m not sure what you mean. Perhaps you’re projecting.”

Ren smiles his I-Am-Trying-To-Be-Your-Friend smile, which is close-lipped and ironic and has the effect of chastising Goro into something close to friendliness. “Nice try.”

“Since when do you know what... _looks_ I have, anyway?” Goro turns his face away.

“What, don’t you know me just as well by now?”

Goro turns back to him before he realizes he’s done it.

Ren smiles, something quick and barely-there before it disappears again, like a match failing to spark a lasting flame. “But don’t deflect. I’m serious. You know… you do know that I’m not here with you because I feel like I have to be.”

After Ren’s spoken, in the silence that follows, Goro can still feel the wake left by the words. Slowly, so as to not be noticeable, he clenches his hand into a fist and digs his nails into his palm.

_Why? Why did you have to say anything? Where do you get off with this? Why are you torturing me?_

This past year of knowing Ren– distantly through the occasional long-distance missive, and halfheartedly through brief encounters with the friends he’s left behind, with the city he’s changed... really trying to know him, really trying not to loathe him… what has it amounted to?

No matter what he does, how differently he tries to think, it feels like everything that happens is being carefully measured and weighed. It feels like this new life, just as his old one was, is a scoreboard, and the points that he earns and Ren earns against him are being tallied up and compared. The game is over; it ended a long time ago, and Goro knows he wasn't the winner. But it’s as if he’s still losing, over and over again, every day. And there’s no room for goodwill in a competition.

...But there’s one thing, the most important thing. There’s one thing that’s enough, that manages to quell the despair, the anger he feels at himself and the anger at Ren he can’t manage to shake.

It’s to see that Ren is _alive,_  that he has plans for the future, that he has hope. Despite Goro’s mistakes, Ren has overcome, he remains uncorrupted. He seems so much older, now, almost nothing like the scrawny boy in that cold room with the bruises on his face.

Bizarrely, Goro wants to tell Ren that, suddenly, wants him to know– that Goro is thankful most of all that Goro failed when it mattered most, when he most needed to. No matter how much Ren infuriates him, that’s something that never changes. But it’s the kind of nonsensical impulse he’s learned to quell. So he just exhales through his nose, and says, “Of course,” trying for amiable– though it just comes out sounding sarcastic.

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” Ren elbows him gently.

Goro takes a breath, musters up all the sincerity he can manage, and says, “I do know. Thank you.”  
  
Ren seems satisfied. It doesn't mean much, though. Really none of it means very much, Goro thinks. He feels like a vice is gripping his heart. He remembers: Ren is almost always bored.

Another short while of painful small talk, and then the heat becomes unbearable for both of them, makes them rise from where they sit as if compelled.  

“I think I’ll go home,” says Goro.

“I’m in town for another week,” Ren says. “I’ll see you again?”

Goro smiles politely. “Sure,” he says.

After he leaves by himself he ducks into a coffee shop a few minutes away from the station. There’s a line in front of the register. There are colorful signs advertising seasonal drinks, nothing at all like Leblanc.

He finds an empty table in the corner with one chair and pulls two books out of his messenger bag: one English novel he’s making his way through, and another, smaller one. It’s thick, but tiny enough to fit in his pocket, a mass-market paperback with a shoddy binding.

He runs his finger along the spine of that one and sighs.

It was in a box of old books Hirakawa’s cousin had given her. They couldn’t sell any, of course, so she was planning on donating them to the library, but she wanted to see if Goro wanted any first.

Back then Goro scanned the box for any that caught his interest, moving books out of the way to dig for more. One he pushed aside was an innocuous paperback.

“Oh, she’s had that for a while.” Hirakawa spoke up when she saw it in his hands. “My cousin, I mean. I wonder why it’s here.”

“This one?” Goro regarded it dubiously.

“Yeah. She had some problems with anger. One time at a family dinner there was an incident, and that’s what made her start getting help. There was an espresso machine involved. Among other things.” Hirakawa sounded a little plaintive. “I’ve never looked at a whisk the same way again.”

 _A New You!_ proclaimed the cover in cheery letters. Goro scoffed. Then, when Hirakawa was attending to something else, he put it in his pile.

He needed all the help he could get, Goro reasoned that night when he opened it. Even if what he needed was probably well beyond the reach of a pathetic little self-help manual, Goro had always felt a kind of devotion to words in books.

His foremost reason for taking it, though, was that there was something tempting about the idea of a _new him._ The thought of killing the old self and birthing another– he wondered if it could be done. He couldn’t help but find it appealing. So by the light of his bedside desk lamp, sitting still amidst the dust particles in his room whirling in the air, he opened the book and read the same words he’s re-reading now. 

 

 

 

 

> _Old grudges, everyday irritations, and more– things that make us angry are everywhere. But did you know you hurt yourself the most by holding on to negative feelings?_
> 
> _It’s normal and even healthy to feel angry sometimes. But even if you’ve been deeply hurt or you’re having trouble letting go of a long-held resentment, staying angry can begin to affect your mental and physical health._
> 
> _If you’re beginning to think your feelings of anger are impeding your ability to enjoy life, it’s time to take charge! Start by practicing relaxation techniques. Visualize something that makes you feel at peace, or take some deep breaths._
> 
> _Keep practicing and relaxing, and soon the way you think will change. You’ll be thankful your emotions don’t control you, and the new you will be much happier!_

Goro knows angry men quite well. He’s met angry men and lived under their roofs and flinched at their abuses and even killed for one. Angry men are only alive because they’re angry, but they don’t deserve to live on.

Shido’s rage was legendary. Even Goro, officially a ghost when he was in that office, heard the whispers from the staff about the alcohol habit or the latest burst of temper. He had seen his father angry, frequently, but it was worse when Goro only _heard_ him over the phone, with Goro left with nothing but the icy fury in Shido’s tone to indicate how he was feeling, a voice he can barely remember hearing, now, without wanting to vomit.

And Goro failed because he thought he could bury his feelings, when he was always feeling too much. Too much hate, too much pain, too much fury. He unmasked himself in front of the Thieves, and when he vowed to take their heads… well, that was his self-control gone.

Berserk. He turned his power upon himself. Killing had only been a means, a regrettable necessity, but then– when he saw Ren back from the dead, _infallible_ , him and his self-righteous fucking comic-book cohort, he _really wanted to hurt._

The problem was that he was so afraid of becoming his mother, meek and passive and dependent, that he may have begun to–

–he didn’t want to think it, but of course he thought it anyway, of course he couldn’t stop thinking it–

–become his father.  

He thought that it must be all Ren’s fault. Even when he rejoined the Thieves right before they took down Yaldabaoth, even after he pulled his own resurrection stunt and reappeared, half-hearing and half-dead.Even as they watched Ren, each of them awestruck, call Satanael, with righteous fire burning in his gray eyes, and shoot a god in the head.

Even– or maybe _especially–_ when Ren showed up at his door that Christmas.

After that fight, after rejecting the uncomfortable, half-genuine offers of companionship from a Thief here or a Thief there, in his small, dark, apartment, Goro was thinking about the gods. He was thinking about hurting himself. He was thinking about his rotten lineage, his cursed birth. And he was hearing a knock at the door and then he was letting Ren in and watching him nonchalantly unzip his jacket, looking completely fucking… _average_ , like he hadn’t just _saved the world_. And after a minute or so of awkward greetings he remembers Ren said–

"Are you allergic to saying my name or something? You use my first name, but I think I've only heard it from you twice before."

A familiar, playful edge to his words, but his voice sounded strangely flat. And he was catless. Goro remembered, then, how strange it had felt when Morgana left them, like even the meager bits of hope Goro had managed to gather up were fading away. If even Goro felt that much, how hard was it on Ren?

"Ren," Goro snapped, then, just to prove he could do it. "Ren, Ren, Ren."

"Thanks, Goro," Ren said immediately.

Somehow it felt like there was no taking _that_ back; Goro recalls his mouth falling open in a perfect O of outrage. "You tricked me!”

"Yes, I deceived you into familiarity.” Ren was picking up speed in a Joker-esque way. “Look. Here's the thing. I won't be around for a while."

It was a bizarre thing to hear. "Why?"

"Aw,” Ren said, looking away, “you care enough to ask questions?”

He was being evasive. Goro snapped, “Why are you _here?_ ”

“Because I wanted you to know,” Ren said calmly. “That I’m going. You and I still have things we need to work out.”

“Really? I can’t think of anything. Could you remind me of any unresolved issues that may exist between us?” Goro said through clenched teeth.

Ren actually laughed. “I knew you’d take that well.”

“And now you’re leaving.” Goro could feel himself losing control, but he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving. He was feeling too much again; he was full to the brim and spilling over. “Even though there’s nothing back in your hick town, is there? But it doesn’t matter. You’ve gotten your victory and now you’re leaving.”

The anger felt so good! Like an old friend. Something not at all like the empty numbness, that hollow acceptance that said _I should die._

"I’m not leaving because I want to. And I’m not going home.” The more Goro flared up, the calmer Ren got– it was infuriating. “Believe it or not, I’m not feeling very victorious right now.”

“What do you–”

“Listen,” Ren said. “Just rest up and take it easy and try not to do any more self-destructive things.” He cocked his head. “Well, I mean, that’s a little difficult for you, I guess.”

Goro should have been able to put it together immediately– what Ren planned to do. But he was so exhausted, so angry, so absorbed in his own misfortunes. And there was something he needed to hear from Ren, a question he wanted to ask.

So Goro asked it. "Do you think I should turn myself in?"

For just a moment, Ren looked surprised. And then his expression evened. "What,” he said, in his soft voice, “did we just say about self-destructive things?”

"Please,” Goro said. There was no one else he could ask, except maybe Sae. There was nobody else with an opinion that mattered.

In that moment, whatever Ren said, Goro would have done.  

"I don't know. I don't think–” Ren hesitated. “I don't think so."

“Why?”

"It isn't anything,” Ren said, his voice suddenly turning hard and cold. “It’s just– There’s no point for you. You'll just suffer."

Later, Goro would remember the way he said _for you,_ but back then he’d only snapped, "I'm suffering right now. You know me. You know who I am. You don't think I _deserve_ to suffer?"

"That is how everyone seems to think it should work," Ren said. “But I don’t. There’s– there has to be something more.”

“What more?” Goro almost cried out. “ _What more can there be_?”

"More of the third degree, huh," Ren said, and looked away. "I really have to go.” He paused. “Hey, do me a favor, okay? It’s important. Don't tell anyone about this. About me leaving.”

“...What?” What was the point of this?

“I'm gonna be fine, but no one can know until it's done. So just… keep it to yourself.” Ren half-smiled. “I’m going now. Thanks for having me.”

He walked to Goro’s door, placed a hand on the knob, and paused before looking back over his shoulder.

“Hey, Goro,” he said. “Merry Christmas. And I _am_ coming back.”

It was only December; Goro didn’t have the book yet. For a while he had nothing, and felt it; there was a yawning emptiness inside him that weighed upon him like a curse.

Some of the only times he felt anything were the times when he thought about Ren. He would remember Ren’s words as sanctimonious, his attitude as unbearable, and he would burn with a swell of emotion he could only define as rage. And then for some reason Goro would wish to see him again, and the embers erupted into a trash fire, of envy and confusion and bitterness and loathing, for Ren and towards himself in equal measure.

Then, later, Sae had that talk with him. _Avoid things that make your anger worse_ , she said. ****

Goro wanted, passively, to be done with it, to die already– but there was an active instinct for survival in him, something entirely human and far too stubborn, that wouldn't permit him to let go.

He would need a new reason to live, he realized. He would need a fuel that wasn’t fury. And who made him more angry– who made him _feel_ more than Ren?

So after that conversation with Sae, Goro made a vow to himself. And when it was done, he unlocked his phone and opened his contacts app and thumbed over to Ren’s name.

And then he deleted his number.

But that was then. Now, Goro closes the book slowly and puts it down. Next to him, a high-school girl chatters incessantly to her friend, pushing her chair forward so they can better bend their heads over a video playing on her phone. A few tables away, an old woman sips her drink slowly, sweeping her mild gaze over the whole of the coffee shop.

The world is still spinning, and Goro is twenty years old. It’s been a year since he spent his nineteenth birthday facedown on his mattress, threadbare sheets over his head, running through scenarios in his head– how he could die without anybody noticing, how he could make it as painful or as painless as possible.

Maybe he’s made… progress. But does he feel closer to a new him?

He can’t think of the answer.

Goro picks up his novel and takes a sip of his coffee and hunches down in his chair. There’s a vent right behind his table; the rush of cold air makes the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. He decides that all things considered, it’s the best birthday he’s ever had.

* * *

Goro doesn’t see Ren again.

Summer soon turns to fall; the air grows crisper and the days grow shorter. Goro never pays much attention to the changing of the seasons until he’s unable to ignore it any longer; until the smallest things remind him of time’s passage– like a single leaf lying on the sidewalk in front of him or a strong, cold wind making the door to his apartment that much harder to force open. The abrupt realization that more time has gone by, despite the slowness of his life, is always a little eerie, a little lonely.

Ren has long since disappeared, homeward to Kanagawa and an idyllic, thoroughly uneventful family life, Goro understands. He’s taking the Center Test in January, after a few more months of hitting the books.

And then, most likely, he’ll be back in the city.

Goro thinks about it whenever he sees online ads for clothing sales– _new selections for spring!_ He thinks about it whenever Hirakawa mentions anticipated sales for the next quarter. He begins to anticipate Ren’s return in snatches of moments, in recollections and associations that startle him when he realizes he’s dwelling on them. He notices without noticing. He waits hard enough and long enough to nearly forget what he is waiting for.

It’ll be all right. Maybe nothing Ren said that February still applies, and he’ll change his mind. Maybe he’ll never want to see Goro again. The thought makes Goro feel cold inside, but it’ll be all right, as long as Ren is in the city. Tokyo is where Ren belongs– of that Goro is convinced.

He’s had nothing constant in his life besides his books and the strength of his will. Ren, too, will leave eventually, will soon be smart enough to cut off Goro’s dead weight, and when it happens Goro will be prepared. It will be what he deserves.

All mornings are the same in his tiny apartment. It isn’t where he lived before– it’s a step down, really, but it’s all his, and probably no one at the higher levels of the government has his address specifically written down anymore, so that’s nice. Whatever it is, it’s a place to be.

That morning Goro’s phone alarm goes off at a quarter before seven, but he’s already awake, hands behind his head as he looks up at the ceiling.

For Goro, idleness has always been the affliction, work the tonic. So it wasn't difficult– at least, not as difficult as it could have been– to split his life the way he did, between school, his job, his real job. There was something deeply satisfying about working himself so hard that when he fell into bed at night, sleep came at once. As a child he spent far too much time between awake and asleep, staring at the ceiling with a wobbly lip, dreaming pointless dreams and hoping impossibly and childishly for his mother to walk in through the door and hold him again. That never helped anyone. It was better when sheer exhaustion put him right out.

He doesn't sleep well anymore.

There’s been far too much _time_ after the events of two years ago. There was a haze, in which the world seemed to spin in a sphere separate from him, in which nothing that existed outside of his bedroom seemed like it existed at all. Somewhere in the middle of all that he took his high-school graduate certificate exam, passing effortlessly even when there was so much _nothing_ , so much that was hollow inside him that he could barely bring himself to shower, to even _be_. But that was a chore put aside: high school finished, at least officially. And now…

On one hand, he’s able to indulge himself in inclinations that would have only been distractions not long ago. Sometimes Goro happens upon a name in an old book or an article online that catches his interest, and now he has the time to follow the threads, to lose himself in a pleasantly numbing black hole of research and note-taking. He used to love this, long ago, this greedy pursuit of knowledge, simply for the sake of its acquisition. Maybe he’s learning to love it again. Maybe it’s just something to do.

But on the other, he’s found he _needs_ ways to fill his time, to stay sane, to avoid another bout of catatonic depression. He’s become very good at finding remote work online, actually. And there’s his real-life job, with Hirakawa. Goro likes it, well enough, because he found it on his own, mostly because it fills time.

And the third thing is–

A reminder on his phone jolts him out of his reverie, vibrating against the countertop near where he's been standing and mechanically eating his breakfast.

Goro leans over to look at the words on the lit-up screen. Oh. He almost forgot.

A short while later, after retrieving his jacket and halfheartedly running a comb through his hair, he’s stepped out into the world.

The address he’s written in the notes app on his phone is too close for comfort to the Diet building, but whatever. Once he’s there…

Well, he won’t kid himself; it won’t be in-and-out. He’s dealing with bureaucrats, after all. That’s fine. Goro’s good at waiting. And this is nothing he hasn’t done before. There’s no point in getting emotional.

He endures a stuffy train ride to Chiyoda and consults his phone again when he exits the station to guide his way. It’s only a six-minute walk before he arrives.

The building he sees when he looks up from his phone has a slightly frumpy-looking brick facade that seems a little out-of-place amidst the high-rises that line the street. Goro walks in through the revolving doors and consults the directory posted next to the elevators.

 _Department of Research and Planning, sixth floor,_ reads the sign.

Lovely. Goro presses the _up_ button on the elevator, stands with his hands behind his back, and waits.

* * *

...And waits.

Goro stifles a yawn and represses the childish urge to kick at the legs of the uncomfortable chair in which the secretary directed him to sit, sneaking another glance at his phone instead. It’s ten minutes after the meeting time he confirmed in advance. Whatever. It’s not as if he really expected efficiency.

A few minutes later, the door in front of him opens, and a nondescript bureaucrat exits and gives Goro a curious glance before passing him by.

Goro stands and walks over to the door. It’s been left a little ajar, and the person seated at the desk inside looks up at him.

“Hello,” Goro says, smiling. “I’m Akechi. We spoke earlier on the phone– I have an appointment for noon?”

“Yes, of course,” the man says. “Come in. Sorry about the wait.”

Goro enters. The office is small and cramped, but the light from the window softens the room, and warms it up, too– the man has his sleeves rolled up, and Goro feels inclined to remove his jacket, carefully placing it over one arm of the chair opposite the desk before he gives him a short, cordial bow and sits down.

“You’re…” the man says, looking at him closely. “Have I seen you before?”

Goro opens his mouth, but before he can reply the man suddenly starts. “That’s right! Could you be… are you that boy who used to be on television? The detective?”

Ah.

So here’s one who remembers him.

Goro doesn’t panic. He can bullshit his way out of almost anything. Actually, in this situation, he might even be able to use this as an advantage. He just has to play his cards right.

So Goro smiles widely. “Yes,” he says. “That’s me– Goro Akechi.”

“My daughter used to watch your interviews.” The man looks confused. “But she hasn’t mentioned you in a while…”  

Goro laughs, short and sheepish. “Yes, well… I’m amazed you remember me. To tell the truth…” He sits up a little straighter. “I’ve retired from my career as a junior detective.”

“Is that right? But you’re still so young…”

Goro keeps his voice even. “That’s right. So I’m being careful about choosing my vocation so early.” He smiles. “Call it youthful restlessness, but a few years ago I simply grew frustrated with the process at the police station. Of course, I continue to appreciate the efforts of everybody, but there’s a lot of bureaucratic backlog, you know…” Goro pauses and sighs. “That kind of thing wears on you, after a while.”  

The man nods. “I understand completely.”

“Regardless,” Goro says, “I’m more interested in furthering my studies at the moment. I’m currently researching individuals who’ve contributed towards societal progress.”

“I see, I see… That’s a noble endeavor. Very noble. I’m sure you’ll get some use out of it.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Well, as for the matter at hand… let me just pull up my notes,” the man murmurs, reaching into a drawer.

Goro takes the moment to scrutinize both his manner and the office space. Books on a shelf more-or-less neatly organized, two photo frames on the desk, one of those vague motivational quotes written on an aged poster on the wall. And the man himself is middle-aged, with glasses, looking slightly sweaty and not, altogether, very imposing.

Hopefully this won't be hard.

“Right– here it is,” the man says, pulling a thick notebook out of his desk. He flips to a page somewhere in the middle and squints at it. “So you’re… Ah, a grant an individual applied for 15 years ago. That’s the file you’re requesting, yes?”

“Exactly.” Goro folds his hands in his lap and smiles.

“I must say, this is an uncommon request for such an old document… The public’s entitled to this information, but I’m not sure if I can give you the entire text of the application.” The man ran a hand through his hair. “We don’t keep digital records, either– it’s not a very friendly system we have here for you young people. A little old-fashioned. Can I ask how you even knew this document existed?”

 _Because of a serial number in the government’s database I’m not meant to have seen._ Goro smiled. “I’m familiar with this researcher’s work, so I acted on a hunch and asked some others about it.”   

“Wakaba Isshiki, is it?” The man looks down at his notes again. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard of her.”

“Unfortunately, the body of her work isn’t very well-known. I simply have a personal interest.”

“I see…” The man still looks dubious. “I’m really not sure if I can release this document. I may have to contact my superior…”

“Sir,” Goro says.

“Yes?”

“When I stopped my work… honestly, I had lost a lot of faith in our system.” Goro closes his eyes. “It was a very difficult time for me, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“I… can, but…”

“It’s only recently that I’ve been awakened again, through a new passion.” Goro opens his eyes. “You see, I want to believe in the government’s commitment to the advancement of scientific ideas. I want to have faith again– in the pursuit of knowledge, and in the institutions that make it possible for us to seek that knowledge with confidence. Sir…” Goro leans forward. “Innovation happens every day. But work like yours– people like you– make it possible. Without a solid foundation, it's impossible for advancement to happen. I know this quite well. That's why I’m proud to call myself Japanese. That's why I look to the brilliant minds of our past, to light my path into the future.” He looks the man squarely in the eyes. “And that’s why I need to see this file.”

The man blinks at him.

And twenty minutes later, after some more sitting around and smiling and waiting, a newly-acquired photocopy is tucked safely away in a manila folder he’s holding in his hands. He thanks the man profusely, bowing for good measure, and takes his leave.

In the lobby of the building, Goro takes a breather. He really hasn't lost his ability to bullshit. _Proud to be Japanese,_ Goro thinks, an ironic smile spreading across his face, and snorts.

He takes a minute to upload scans of the document with his phone. Then he puts the folder back in his messenger bag.

On the train ride home, Goro pulls up the IM app on his phone.

 _It’s done. Everything’s been uploaded, if you’d like to take a look,_ he types, and hits send. 

The reply comes quickly, as always: _gg_

Goro waits, but there isn’t anything else. He huffs a breath through his nose and sits back. Typical. All that trouble and she won’t even do him the honor of a proper response.

He has another shift at work, which passes with little fanfare. Then evening approaches swiftly, and before long Goro’s on his way home again, with all the dread that preludes being left alone with his thoughts.

When he returns to his apartment building the sun has already mostly set. He climbs the two flights of stairs and approaches his own door, but before he can get there–

“Akechi!”

Oh, goddamn it. He needs to remember to silence his footsteps. Mrs. Suzuki has heard him, or stood there creepily for a long time watching through the peephole– whichever– and now she’s opened the door, beaming brightly.

She’s one of those women Goro knows well– an empty-nester, just old and lonely enough that Goro’s young, handsome face is enough to inspire devoted adoration. He used to rely on keeping such acquaintances when he lived within the system, boyishly-charming his way into a meal and a few more hours away from what classified as _home_ that month, but he doesn’t need to be noticed by people like her anymore.

The universe has different plans, however. Suzuki is already ushering him inside. “Coming back from work? Come in, come in! You’re just in time for dinner!”

Goro opens his mouth to give a firm refusal and hears himself say instead “If I’m not intruding…”  

So he’s steered into the apartment and the production begins, Suzuki’s voice rising above the sounds of dishware clanging and water boiling as a meal is prepared. Goro sits at the dining table, uncomfortable and polite.

There’s a cat here, too, a skinny calico, one that’s never seemed to like Goro very much. Goro regards it without much expression. It looks back at him just as impassively.

Goro sighs. He greatly prefers dogs. They’re so easy with their affection. The cats he’s encountered have always been so picky– withholding judgment with inscrutability until they finally decide they don’t like you. Or worse, they talk, and almost never have anything nice to say.

Eventually the cat disappears into another room and food arrives on the table. There’s a meal, there’s conversation, there’s a vehemently-related anecdote about a daughter-in-law who was nearly rear-ended by a terrible driver. God, Mrs. Suzuki is a nuisance. She tends to fuss about his disability, too, or she did before Goro’s borderline-curt responses to her questions made it clear that the matter of his hearing aid was a topic not to be breached. Goro’s no stranger to lying, but every time he tells an inquirer that his condition was simply there from birth, he feels like he’s as easy to see through as a sheet of wax paper.

At least dinner is good, admittedly much better than anything he could’ve halfheartedly assembled at home. After far too much time, Goro finally manages to extricate himself from the apartment. He gives his goodbyes and his thanks.

Then he gets into his own home, locks the door behind him, and leans back against it, burying his face in his hands.

Damn it, damn it. He can’t keep letting himself do this or it’ll become easy.

Next time. Next time he’ll say something rude about her cooking or her cat or her fucking daughter-in-law, and then he’ll walk right past without even watching the smile on her face slowly fade.

* * *

The next day Goro has another shift. Right before he arrives he checks his phone and finds a new message: _debrief today at 4_

 _I have work then_ , he types in reply.

A few minutes later his phone buzzes again. _when is yr shift over_

_6._

_be here by 6:35 then_

About what he expected. _Copy that._

_don’t be a dork_

That doesn’t warrant a reply. Goro puts his phone back in his pocket and pushes open the door.

“Hello, Hirakawa.” Goro’s voice rings clearly through the shop as he enters.

There’s only one other person inside. Ayame Hirakawa, owner of this bookstore, Goro’s boss, and the only other employee, is sitting at one of the tables with her eyes narrowed and her expression as stern as it usually is. It’s a look that always seems out-of-place amongst her youthful features and expensive clothes. She doesn't glance up from the book she's holding, instead beckoning with her hand in the air. “Akechi, come here.”

Goro sighs and makes his way over, standing behind her so he can read the words she's focused on. It's a new edition of a classical text on metaphysics. Nice cover. Decent font choice.

Hirakawa points a perfectly-manicured nail at the bottom of the page. “Look. Read the second footnote.”

All it seems to be is an addendum which notes that another philosopher, a contemporary of the first, had previously treated the topic of the paragraph. Goro says so.

Hirakawa finally looks at him. “You don't think it has another meaning?”

“Hm?”

“I think the author’s bringing up the second argument to draw attention to its flaws.”

Goro laughs politely. “It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary, but I’m not inclined to believe that’s true in this case. If you consider the language–”  

And then he stops talking, because Hirakawa’s countenance is overcome by a rare, triumphant smile, and that never means anything good. Goro feels an overwhelming sense of dread.

Hirakawa selects another book next to her and flips through the pages elegantly. She finally stops at the place she wants and shows Goro.

It’s an essay, written by the author of the first argument, that expresses vitriol towards the second philosopher and his theories. Very name-and-shame-y. And evidence for Hirakawa’s theory.

Goro can’t help but huff. “Why didn't you say so earlier? That changes the situation. Obviously I would’ve drawn a different conclusion without this information.”

“Well, I wanted to see what you would think. You're too quick to draw conclusions.”

 _She’s_ telling _him_ that?! “...Anyway,” Goro says, deciding to change the course of this ridiculous conversation, “has the shipment of _Night Skies_ from the publisher come in?”

“Ah… no, it hasn’t.”

“Then have you called the publisher?"

“Isn’t that what I pay you for?”

“With all due respect, you pay me a cashier’s wages, so, no.”

“Did I pay you to make that spreadsheet that logged all our incoming shipments? And the folder with all of our contacts’ names?"

Damn it! “No. But it was necessary–”

“Yes, it was necessary,” Hirakawa agrees. “As necessary as you are to keeping this place afloat.”

Well, it’s nice to have some acknowledgment around here. “That’s very kind–”

“So make yourself useful and check on that shipment. And, ah, send out a Tweet or something if you feel like it. Please and thanks.” And with that, Hirakawa returns to her book.

...How? How does he keep losing rhetorical battles to this woman?

But it’s not as if he minds the work, Goro thinks, resigned, as he makes the call. Broadcast Books is a place he would have rolled his eyes at until quite recently, and now he’s responsible for its day-to-day functioning, thanks to the experience he has from managing his own finances over the years– and Hirakawa’s college-educated naïveté. A literature degree does not a particularly well-run business make.

Back to his duties. He finishes making his call– the shipment should be here in two days– and then he takes a photo of the store, a nice little shot with a stack of books in focus in the foreground. He types the caption: _Another peaceful evening here at Broadcast. Come spend a day with us and meet your new favorite book!_

Gag. The account only has 37 followers. And he’s fairly sure most are just Hirakawa’s friends. How the mighty fall– he had to leave the Detective Prince’s Twitter inactive; deactivating would be too conspicuous. Sometimes he still goes through his old tweets… Anyway, at least it's a marked improvement from only a week ago. Back then there were 32. Perhaps his vapid words are bearing fruit.

Customers are scarce today, as always, but his boss is in an indulgent mood and bids him order pizza with her bottomless credit card. When it arrives they split it for an early dinner, and then before he knows it Goro's shift is over. He takes off his nametag, bids Hirakawa adieu– she doesn’t look in his direction when she gives him an absent-minded wave goodbye– and steps outside, back into the world.

Goro breathes in the crisp fall air and pulls his scarf tighter around his neck, allowing himself a breather for just a moment.

And then, it’s time for him to report to his sentence. His warden is a four-foot-eleven disgruntled teenage girl with dyed-orange hair.

On the train, Goro looks at his phone to make sure he’s not running late and that Futaba hasn’t messaged him yet. She always sends him extremely specific times. Once, he was late by three minutes, and she wouldn't open the door for another fifteen. She left him quietly seething by the entrance before suddenly appearing, and while he expected an icy reception and a resentful attitude, she only said, inexplicably, “Sorry. Was brushing my teeth.”

She’s completely unpredictable. Goro can’t prepare for it. How is he supposed to know how to act around somebody when Goro doesn’t know what to say or when to smile, when the person in question reacts differently to something depending on the day? Save for Ren, she is the most difficult person he has ever been around. Goro is intensely jealous of her talent for inscrutability; it reminds him of who he used to be, how neatly and precisely he used to be able to conceal his feelings.

He feels so fucking naked sometimes. So _known_ , now that there exist people who have seen him for who he is– seen the whole, ugly truth. Sometimes it’s a small comfort to realize there’s ways he doesn't have to hide anymore. More often it’s unbearable.

Occasionally he itches for a new start in a place where he can be alone again. He wants to run away to a new city and begin a new deception– live peacefully and serenely until his neighbors assume he’s a decent, mild-mannered boy who’s never had blood on his hands.

But he’s getting annoyed even now at the thought of an imaginary townsman, asking him questions, acting entitled, as if he could even begin to comprehend just what Goro’s been through…

Jesus. Goro checks himself and grits his teeth. These are his thoughts. Twisted, not in a TV-special-sociopath way, but formed of gnarled roots and paths with no end in sight, everything labyrinthine.

These people who know him– there’s only a few, and they’re the only ones who know what he’s done. He wonders briefly if he will ever be able to know another person again– if years down the line someone like _Sakamoto_ will know the truth of Goro Akechi better than anyone else he’ll have met since then.  

In a subway car so crowded there’s barely room to stand, Goro feels suddenly and profoundly alone.

He has to switch lines once, and then the stop for Yongen-Jaya comes before long. He would know the way to Leblanc with his eyes closed.

He reluctantly pushes open the door and steps inside. Sojiro is behind the counter as always, wiping a plate with a towel. The shop’s proprietor… well, he always treats Goro with respect. Treats him like a human being, even though Goro’s actions have transformed his life.

But Goro knows what he did, and that makes it hard for him to enter Leblanc at all nowadays.

“She’s already in the attic,” Sojiro says neutrally. “Coffee before you go?”

“No, thank you,” Goro says, smiling slightly. “I wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”

Sojiro nods, and then Goro walks to the stairs and begins his ascent.

The attic, now uninhabited, is their base of operations. Futaba’s endeavored to keep it free of personal effects; it’s a space for work, a reminder that the work they conduct here is professional and a means to an end. It signifies that there’s nothing else that resounds in their relationship– Goro knows that’s the intention. But sometimes he sees that she’s left small things of hers here, fast-food containers or headphones or various cables for various devices, and wonders if…

No. It’s only that Futaba is messy– that’s all it is.  

In practice their arrangement is simple. There are some branches of the government that continue to keep pen-and-paper records in their offices. Futaba can’t access that information remotely, and Goro has a pretty face and the curse of a silver tongue, so he’s made himself useful in seeking it out.

But the reasons for it are a little more complicated.

Futaba’s wearing her Kosei uniform, leaning back on the futon, her laptop on her lap and a box of files on the floor at her feet. “On time today,” she says, watching Goro enter. “Bare minimum objective met!”

“I’m almost always on time.”

“Hmm. It’s the _almost_ that counts.”

Goro sits at the chair by the desk and retrieves his own laptop, and they get to work.

“This is an application for funding for a psychological study, filed fifteen years ago,” says Goro. It’s a relatively inconsequential document, but lately everything they’ve been uncovering has been relatively inconsequential, so whatever. “It was submitted directly to the Society for Science Research, which works closely with the government.”

Futaba squints at her screen. “Looks like it was based on a series of questions. Meant to classify the kinds of emotional responses resulting from stressful life events.”

“Correct.”

Futaba pinches the bridge of her nose. “Then… it’s pre-Metaverse. And the study was never conducted.”

“Right. If it was, we’d have come across it already.”  

“Wait, I don’t understand something.” Futaba clicks her tongue. “You said it was submitted directly to this society thing, but when I run the serial number through the system, I get other matches from other departments. Why.” The last word is aimed at Goro with precise force.

“There are several departments of the government that provide funding for this kind of research,” Goro says, and then he gives an outline of the process Isshiki would have had to go through in order to submit the application.

“Can’t keep any of that straight in my head,” Futaba mutters when he’s done.

“You could if you tried,” Goro says, and only smiles blandly when Futaba makes an _ugh_ noise. He’s telling the truth. Futaba is intelligent, to an almost frightening degree. But she has no interest in bureaucratic technicalities and the workings of the government, so she doesn’t bother learning, and Goro can be useful to her. It isn’t particularly his favorite subject, either, but he immersed himself in the system for so long that speaking its language has become second nature.

“Typical her, anyway,” Futaba says.

“How so?”

“It’s nothing,” she snaps, too quickly, and lapses into an angry-seeming silence.

Goro shifts and is just beginning to think of something neutral and banal to say when Futaba suddenly speaks again.

“It’s like–” She closes her eyes and leans back on the futon. “She had so many types and subtypes of emotions and personalities here in her hypothesis. Like she wanted to nail down every little thing. But people are… people. You can’t just predict everything they’re going to do, and you can’t go in and fix them like you’re rewriting a line of code. **”** She sounds a little annoyed about this.

“All this from a Phantom Thief? That philosophy seems to directly contradict the function of your heart-stealing endeavors,” Goro says pleasantly, because he can’t _not,_ the irony is right there.

Futaba cuts her eyes at him. “For a side character, you sure have a lot to say in too many words. You _still_ have no idea what it meant to be a Thief. Changing hearts was a last resort, what we had to do when there was no other choice left. It was how we stopped more people from getting hurt.” There’s no idealistic fire in her words, Goro notes, just a methodical dedication.

Goro wants to retort, but he’s always a little more careful when he comes to Futaba. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair again; they’ve gotten too close to something he doesn’t particularly want to discuss at the moment. He decides to pick up the previous thread of their conversation, and says, carefully,  “Regardless, I’m sure your… Isshiki didn’t think that way for very long, from what we’ve seen of her later research in cognitive psience.”

“Yeah, well, took her a while.” Futaba’s mouth twists unpleasantly.

“It makes you think,” Goro can’t help but add, “that this kind of data is useless in the hands of the government.”

Futaba shoots him a sharp look, and he really should be quiet, but he suddenly can’t bring himself to stop talking. “The politicians, the policy-makers– to them, research like this is merely a way to treat people as walking data sets. They don’t wish to truly understand the complexities and quirks of human beings.”

Futaba hunches her shoulders. “That was how I always assumed my mom thought.”

...Fuck.

“If she had time,” Futaba says softly, “I wonder if she would’ve…”

Self-loathing hits Goro like a particularly violent ocean wave crashing against a weathered rock.

Lives– once they’re gone, it isn’t just the past that’s erased. Every future possibility is obliterated, too, countless webs of cause-and-effect gone up in flames. Goro has been a pure agent of destruction, a murderer of not only people but time itself. Every existence he extinguished had potential, and now every chance for change is gone.

God, he doesn’t fucking want to be here.

“You’re not going to start crying, are you?” Futaba says unkindly, and Goro forces himself to look up. She’s staring at him, mouth a straight line, gaze unforgiving.

He can’t bring himself to say anything. What is there to say?

“Well, don’t,” Futaba mutters, turning her eyes away, her voice losing some of its glacial quality. She mostly sounds tired. “You know, I was thinking, if she were here,” she continues abruptly. “Maybe she would have been able to help you.”

“Help me?” Goro blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re a mess–”

No argument there.

“–and it’s because of the Metaverse. Mostly. And now nobody can understand because nobody knows about it except us. Maybe my mom…” Futaba hesitates. “I don’t know. It’s stupid. Forget it.”

It takes a moment for her words to sink in, and even then Goro finds himself at a loss.

Futaba sounds like she _feels_ for him. Sometimes, before, he’s wondered if she sees a connection between them; sometimes there’s an awkward sentiment of empathy in her words that even he can detect, with his admitted emotional thick-headedness. But this…

This kind of makes him feel sick.

He thinks, so often, of the way Futaba looked at him when they’d begun with this. _“You’re not allowed to forget her,”_ she said. And so strong was the force of her conviction that she put herself to work with her mother’s murderer, in a long-spanning effort to commemorate her work, to gather the data that proves she existed.

The Metaverse is gone. The better part of Wakaba Isshiki’s work has been rendered useless. But Futaba wants to keep her mother’s memory alive, and she wants to punish Goro by forcing him to remember. She wants him to study the life he took. That’s why every so often they work together, to collect and compile the scraps of Isshiki’s research that still exist. To what end? Goro doesn't know. It's not his place to ask.

Their arrangement is retributive, one that’s meant to make him bow his head…so what is Futaba doing? What does she mean? How’s Goro supposed to handle this?

“She would’ve liked you,” Futaba says softly.

No, no, no. It’s too much.

“Futaba,” Goro says, abruptly, wanting to make it stop, “I killed your mother.”

There’s an awful silence, a few seconds that feel so much longer, and then Futaba says, with a raised voice and deadly precision, “I. Know. That.”

Goro doesn’t say anything.

Neither of them speak for another moment, and then, at a normal volume, Futaba says, “She would have. You’re more patient than me. She always said that was my biggest flaw. I was never patient. I could never wait for he– for anything. And you’re more logical.”

Goro raises his eyebrows. “Do you mean to say that you aren’t?”

She explodes, suddenly. “Yeah, whatever, sure I am, but I get _carried away_ ! That's what she thought of me, you know. Oh, sure, I was a kid, but why’d I have to want my mom? Didn't I understand she had important work to do? Work that mattered way more than me?! So _simple_!”

Goro swallows. This conversation is a minefield. He doesn’t know what he should say next, what he could say that won’t set her off. He’s not prepared for this, he’s not made for this. And yet almost without his permission his mouth opens and begins moving. “I don’t mean to infringe upon your feelings–” yes, good job, another line from Watanabe’s repertoire **–** “but… you’re speaking to the expert in getting carried away.”

Futaba looks at him, hackles visibly raised, her grief and rage and exhaustion clearly visible on her face.

But then suddenly, her shoulders slump, and she mellows. She sits back, and the expression on her face evens into matter-of-fact neutrality. “Whatever,” she says.

...Did he say the right thing?

“I don’t want to look at this anymore,” she continues, leaning forward and shutting the lid of her laptop decisively. She stands up suddenly and picks it up before turning towards the door. “Going to watch anime. You go home.”

And then, with no fanfare whatsoever, she’s gone.

Left alone in the attic, Goro surmises that went about as well as it could have gone. Such an abrupt exit is par for the course with her. Sometimes she tells him he can watch her shows with her if he promises to sit quietly, but it doesn’t look like an invitation will come today. She probably doesn’t want to look at him anymore, either.

So Goro stands up, gathers his things, and takes his leave.

* * *

...from _Dr. Watanabe’s Guide to Finding a New You,_ Chapter 6: _“_ It’s Time to Build a Better Future!”

> Are you aware of the positive forces in your life?
> 
> Too often we overlook valuable sources of advice, support, and kindness that are closer than we think. Maybe it’s because we don’t realize how much of a difference having this kind of help can make. Or maybe we just don’t think we deserve it.
> 
> But always remember: if you’re stuck, you don’t have to be stuck by yourself. If you need it, don’t hesitate to ask for help!

* * *

No further instructions come from Futaba during the next few weeks. Most of Goro’s time is spent at work, with much of the rest consumed by the latest black-hole of a research topic he’s absorbed in. This time it’s Hegel, whose _Science of Logic_ he ordinarily wouldn’t even attempt to delve into without an abundance of hours to spare. The bright side of having nothing to do is having enough free time to read things that most people don’t have a chance to get to until they retire.

Ann agonizes further over entrance exams, and Goro’s occasionally enlisted to help her study. Though less learning takes place than he’d like– Ann is easily distracted, and even coaxing her with the promise of crepes after a review session doesn’t always work. Lately Goro’s had several stress dreams about how her scores will look.

Goro wishes, sometimes, for Leblanc’s tranquility, but even though no one has told him he’s unwelcome, there’s little comfort to be found there now, only guilt. He’s better off as another anonymous face in one of the legions of crowded coffee shops that swarm the city.

One morning Sae calls to request that they meet for dinner that night, and offers to pay. She definitely has an agenda, but Goro’s not in a place where he’s able to turn down a free meal.

He accepts. They go to a nice sushi restaurant and, thank God, refrain from reminiscing about the good old conveyor-belt days. He gets there shortly after her and approaches the table, greeting her with a bow of his head.

Sae waits for the waiter to set down their drinks and depart before she says, “I’d like your help with something. If all goes well, it’ll be a good opportunity for you, too.”

“How kind of you to think of me.” Goro smiles carefully. “What is it?”  

“It’s routine legal work, on-site, at the children’s hospital. There’s a current internal effort to ensure standards are up to par with compliance requirements. They need legal expertise in order to compile a series of reports.” She hesitates, and then adds, “Tae asked me if I could be of any help to a colleague of hers.”

On-site? Sometimes Sae comes to him with this kind of request– writing or reviewing reports and the like– but it’s never required him to go anywhere in person. Goro opens his mouth to ask about it and what comes out is “I don’t like hospitals.”

“I don’t think anyone _likes_ hospitals,” says Sae.

“Except for people dating doctors,” Goro replies.

Sae opens her mouth and shuts it again.

Goro demurely sips his drink to hide his smirk. “How is it going, if I may ask?” he remarks after setting down his glass. “With Takemi?”

“...Well.” To her credit, Sae doesn’t lose her composure. “But that’s none of your concern. And I’m not just doing this job as a personal favor. I wouldn’t have accepted if I didn’t think it was something I could really help with.”

Goro’s reminded, suddenly, of the younger Niijima’s blunt decision-making during the brief time he played at being a Thief, her matter-of-fact pragmatism when it came down to the wire. Why should Sae remind him of Makoto? He doesn’t know the latter nearly as well. But the spiral of his thoughts persists, culminating in an image that juxtaposes that ridiculous biker outfit with Sae’s disaster-goth Shadow. The automatic process of smoothing his face into a smilingly neutral expression takes over before he can even consciously smother a laugh.

“And I’m asking you because you’re intelligent, and you have some experience. And,” Sae adds, “this is _good_ work, Goro.”

Good work. Goro’s feeling of good humor disappears as quickly as it came.

Here it comes.

“Isn’t there... something else that you wish you were doing?”

Very slowly, Goro sips his water.

Sae thinks she knows who Goro is. She thinks she can find within him some altruistic streak, some foolhardy and noble Thief-like sentiment, some inspiration that blooms and sings: _I’ll do my best to make a world where people like Shido can't prosper_. Or even: _I won’t rest until there’s a world where what happened to me never happens to anyone else!_

No chance. He’s _done_. It was never about _people like Shido._ It was never a fucking _cause._ It was just the performance of justice, with Goro as a vehicle. After all, there were too many people like him to count. Goro couldn't spare a thought for any of them. He couldn’t afford to think about anyone but himself and the one man he was going to ruin.

How can that change now? There will always be rot in this city. What concern is it of Goro's? Now he just wants to be left alone. He just wants to–

Shit.

He wants to know what he wants.

“I worry that–” Sae hesitates, drumming her fingers quickly on the table for a moment before her hand returns to her lap. “I want you to be aware that you have a future. Running away from that fact is counterintuitive. There’s no reason not to gain experience while you have the opportunity.”

The words barely register. Goro’s thoughts are beginning to echo in his head, drowning out everything else. _I don’t know what I want. I don’t know the reason for which I keep living._

Always the same refrain. The only thing that changes is the degree to which he can ignore the voice in his head.

“Goro?”

With greater difficulty than usual, Goro forces a neutral expression on his face. “Yes. Sorry. I was zoning out.”

Fuck, his voice is shaking with the pre-tears kind of warble. Goddamnit, goddamnit. He’s so pathetic.

“Goro–”  

“I’m sorry,” Goro says, abruptly standing up, “excuse me,” and then he’s slipping away and walking decisively in a direction that he hopes leads towards the restroom.

Inside a stall a moment later Goro presses his hands to his face and tries to cry soundlessly and lets the waves of panic crash brutally into him, thought after thought combining into an overwhelming overture of anxiety. This, more than anything else, feels like his essence– the center of his universe, his weakness, laid bare. He isn’t used to this kind of hopelessness, the kind that makes him feel like there’s nothing inside him at all. Right here, this suffering– it's the gap between absolutely nothing and far too much.

He lets himself cry for two minutes, two minutes only, and then he takes a deep breath. He goes through the motions. He exits the stall. He splashes cold water on his face. He inhales and exhales– once, twice, three times.

He pushes open the door. He returns to their table.

Sae looks up in surprise. “Goro, are you–”

Goro doesn't sit down. “These kinds of things,” he interrupts.

Sae quiets, and gives him a questioning glance, concern still evident in her expression.

Goro swallows. “Do you really think– I can make up for it? Just by doing things like this? Even if I were to try for the rest of my life. Does it even matter if I…”   

He can’t make himself say more; his words won’t work. He has only the faint hope that his meaning will get across.

At first, Sae is silent, and Goro slowly begins to feel regret in the form of a familiar rhythm of angry-self loathing pulsing inside him– why’d he open his mouth?

But after considering him for another moment, Sae folds her hands on the table and looks up at him. “I’ll tell you what I think. For quite some time I saw you as nothing but a novelty, a nuisance.”

Goro’s expression doesn’t change. Understandable. It wasn’t as if he tried to seem any different. Better to seem lovably clumsy and harmless than to look competent and pose a threat. Sae didn’t take him seriously; neither did most anyone else at the police department. That was fine; it wasn’t their acknowledgment he sought.

“But… You’re capable and intelligent. You’ve proven that to me before.”

That catches him off guard, and Goro’s mouth opens a little in surprise.

“I’ve seen how you think, and you have a good mind for this kind of work. Goro, I can't tell you anything about how the rest of your life will play out. However, I'm asking you to help with this because right now, I’m sure that it’s a good way for you to use your talents.” She looks at him steadily. “And I have faith in your abilities.”

Goro’s first thought: _She’s lying_. Or… concealing the truth, partway. These cases of hers he assists with– all of it has been about atonement. It’s about the discomfort she feels with his situation, that any reasonable person would feel. She only wants to put him to use as a form of making amends.

 _...Capable_ , though. And _intelligent_.

He doesn’t deserve to think in terms of short-term consolations, after everything he’s done. But Sae– someone who, despite everything, he’s come to trust– has faith in him.

...Why can’t he feel proud of himself? Just for a little while?

Slowly, the world begins to feel less stifling, less angry. Goro takes a breath, and then a seat. Sae watches him with the same steady gaze as he lowers himself once more into the chair opposite hers.

“Thank you, ” he says, tone courteous, making sure there's no trace of tears in his voice, turning it on all the way. “I think that… I would like to help.”

Sae smiles, satisfied. “Excellent. I was hoping you’d say so. I’ll forward you the details?”

“Please do,” Goro says. “Ah. But could I ask you something?”

Sae raises a questioning brow.

“Could I bring someone with me?”

* * *

Goro really doesn’t like hospitals. That’s his justification. That’s why he’s convincing himself he’s not overly needy, that he can have this, that it’s okay for cheery, invincible-seeming Ann to be beside him as they loiter in the lobby of the hospital building.

 _“Wouldn’t hurt to reach out more often,”_ Ren told him earlier. Damn it all. Goro will never get his voice out of his head, will he?

So reach he did. And of course Ann was willing, and even texted him _“looking forward to it!! :^)”_ the night before, and is now looking around with a calm disposition like they haven’t just entered a miserable depository for the hopeless and the about-to-lose-hope.

“Man, this brings back memories!” she says. "Reminds me of when I broke my ankle when I was 7. Well, the children’s hospitals in Finland are a little different, though.” 

“Thank you,” Goro says. “Again.”

“Really, it’s no problem! I’m glad I could help.” She gives him a smile.

This really is help, isn’t it? Ugh. He _needs help_. This is about him, about his weaknesses. “It won’t be interesting,” Goro says, not for the first time. “Paperwork and… legal things.”

“Goro, c’mon, I already knew about all that stuff. I don’t mind– I’m sure I’ll find something to entertain me. And we’re friends, aren’t we?”

She says it so _easily._ And he supposes… they are. Save for Ren, Ann's the Thief that’s exerted the most effort to keep in contact with him, and not in a mildly threatening way like Futaba has.

“You got my last letter, didn’t you?” asks Goro.

“Sure did!” She laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just that–” she grins– “you still write exactly how you talk.”  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Goro asks, mildly affronted.

“I don’t know, I can’t explain it! Just– even the _ellipses_. I can, like, hear your voice in my head pausing. It never changes.” Ann is now snorting.

Goro folds his arms. “Keep this up and you can forget about receiving any further correspondence.”

“Nooo, you’re my only pen pal, you can’t abandon me!” Ann laughs, and soon Goro is laughing, too. Some of the tenseness he feels at being here is eased.

“Ah, there you are.”

He and Ann both turn, and there’s Sae, walking briskly towards them. She and Ann greet each other while Goro tries not to fidget.

“We’re meeting with an administrator in the legal department,” Sae informs Goro. She looks at Ann. “I don’t… really know what there is for you to do here.”

Ann shrugs. “Maybe I’ll pretend to be a nurse. Could practice my acting skills!”

“I would not recommend that,” Sae says.

“Right, yup, dumb idea, sorry.”

They take an elevator and reach the administrative section of the hospital on a higher floor. After arriving at the office, they’re informed by another employee that the person they’re meeting with has been called away, and will return shortly.

“Well, Tae asked me to drop off some materials with her colleague,” Sae says. “It shouldn’t take me long.”

“Mixing business with pleasure?” Goro pipes up.

Sae gives him the most unimpressed look of all time before turning away. “I’ll be back soon.”

So Ann and himself are left to sit in two uncomfortable fold-out chairs like children obediently awaiting the return of a strict mother.

The hallway they’re in is nice, carpeted, with warm lighting and picture frames on the walls. It’s not like what he remembers about the hospital, all clean and white and bleakly sterile. He thinks of the cloying voices of the nurses, and the numbness he felt, inside and out. He reaches up, almost unconsciously, to tug at his left earlobe.

“Hang on,” Ann says suddenly, and Goro turns to her. “Tae– that’s Ren’s weird doctor lady, right? Goro, did you seriously never tell me that Niijima and her are _dating_?”

“Ah,” Goro says. “I suppose I didn’t.”

“I can’t believe you! When? How? _What_?”

“You’re aware that Niijima helped me, correct? After... everything.”

“Yeah, I remember… I don’t know much else, though.”

“I found myself in a hospital,” Goro says quietly, “but people were asking questions. I didn’t know what to do, but Ms. Niijima was my emergency contact. When she saw me, she knew what had to be done. She asked Ren if he knew a… discreet professional.”

“Without telling him it was for you, huh…”

Goro shifts uncomfortably. “Yes, I… you’ll recall that I asked her not to say anything about me.”

“Yeah,” Ann says softly. “You needed time.”

“Right. Well. Anyway. Dr. Takemi took over my care. Ms. Niijima met her. The rest is history, I suppose.”  

“Wow. Just _wow_.” Ann sits back. Then she shoots forward again. “Wait, why didn’t Makoto mention this to me either?!”

“Even I only found out recently. I suppose they didn’t begin dating right away.”

“I can’t believe it.” Ann shakes her head in amazement. “I wonder if Makoto approves. I’ll definitely have to ask her.”

“You have something in your ear,” says a new voice.

Goro and Ann both turn in its direction and see that there’s a little girl to Goro’s left.

Goro looks back at Ann to make sure he’s not hallucinating. Ann looks at Goro and gives him the wide-eyed _I have no idea_ expression. They both look at the girl again.

She’s… well, a child, wearing a hat with long, fuzzy flaps that cover her ears and the sides of her head. Goro notices at once that she has a hospital bracelet around her wrist. She looks to be about… Goro’s a bad judge of children’s ages. Six? Seven? Eight? She has jeans on, and a rather cute shirt with a rabbit on it, and she’s looking right at Goro with an intent expression.

When Goro doesn’t respond, she says again, “I said, you have something in your ear.”

Ann glances at Goro.

Goro sits back. “That’s supposed to be there.”

“Why?”

...For the love of God. “It’s how I can hear.”

“Oh,” says the kid, and appears to have no further questions.

Ann leans forward. “Hi! What’s your name?”

“Kagami,” she replies.

“How old are you, Kagami?” Ann asks cheerfully.

“Seven-and-a-half. How old are _you_?”

“Oh, uh, eighteen. I’m Ann, Ann Takamaki. And this is Goro Akechi!”   

The child looks at Ann curiously for a moment, but Goro seems to have captured her attention for the time being; she turns back to him with a pinched-up face that Goro supposes is a concentrating gaze. “Like my brother,” she says.

“Oh?” Goro says awkwardly. He has no idea how to interact with children– the high voices, the non-sequiturs, the weirdly brutal honesty **…** it's all beyond him. Kind of like talking to Futaba, actually, which he has also not yet mastered. God, she’d kick his ass for thinking that. All right, time to try. “Is your brother–”

“I don’t wanna talk about him!” she suddenly snaps.

“Well,” Goro says, with a puzzled smile, “you brought him u–”

“Goro,” Ann says, poking him.

What? It’s true. She did bring him up. What was he supposed to do?

Absorbed in thoughts of this injustice, he misses the beginning of Ann’s second attempt to talk to this Kagami and tunes back in just as she appears to be asking them why they’re here.

“Yeah, we’re here to work,” Ann is saying. “Or… he is, at least?” She smiles first at Goro, then at the girl. “I’m just along for the ride.”

Kagami looks at Goro. “Are you a doctor?”

“No.”

“A nurse?”

“...No.”

“Oh.” Kagami appears to lose interest. “I’m sick, you know,” she declares.

Goro glances at the girl. She’s quite small, thin and pale, and she doesn’t appear to have any hair underneath that hat. That’s almost certainly a result of chemotherapy. “How long have you been here?”

“I'm here a lot,” she says. “I have to get treatment, like, all the time.”

It must be chemo, then. This little girl has cancer.

“I like your hair,” Kagami tells Ann seriously.

“Aw, thank you!” Ann glows. “I like the bunny on your shirt!”

And then Ann and Kagami hit it off, because Ann hits it off with everybody. There’s discussion of fast food restaurants and which Pokémon is the cutest. Once or twice Ann asks where Kagami’s parents are, but the girl simply doesn’t answer. Goro sits back and watches it all, paying attention to the conversation. The girl has a straightforward manner of speaking, typical of most children Goro’s encountered, and a distinctive, mischievous-sounding giggle.

A few minutes of that, and then– “Kagami!”

Everyone in their little party turns to see a man walking towards them, a young-professional type who looks frazzled.

“Sorry,” the man apologizes to Ann and Goro. He turns to the girl and reaches out a hand. “Kagami, I was looking for you! Let’s go.”

Kagami doesn’t move immediately. “Are you getting me ice cream?”

“Yes, yes, you’ll have ice cream,” he assures her.

Looking reassured, Kagami takes the offered hand. As they walk away, she turns her head around to look back at Ann and Goro. “Bye,” she says simply.

Ann waves. “Bye!”

Goro watches them go for a moment, feeling strange, before looking away.

“Weird,” says Ann softly, tearing him away from his reverie. “She looked pretty sick... I mean, the hair and all. A kid that young…”

“She said she returns here for regular treatment, however. Since she’s not in intensive care, I assume her condition is improving.”

“You think so? That’s good to hear, I guess…” Ann looks troubled. She really is out of place here, in a place where even cheery lighting and serene paintings can’t distract from the atmosphere of gloom.

But Goro is glad she’s here anyway.

After a moment Sae returns, and some time later the person they’re meant to meet with is back, too. Sae introduces Goro smoothly as her associate **,** and then they enter the office and talk business. They’re given more information about the compliance standards the hospital has to uphold and how the reports should be written. Goro notices Sae seems to be sitting back, stepping in when necessary, but more often leaving it to Goro to engage with the work. That’s fine. He likes it better when he’s making himself useful, rather than sitting and observing like a mannequin in the corner.

It’s only a short visit to establish what they’ll be doing, so it doesn’t take very long. Soon Goro and Sae thank the administrator and say their goodbyes. Then they emerge from the office, wake up Ann, who has fallen asleep on the chair, and head to the exit.

Sae bids them farewell at the station. “I have to return to work,” she says. “Make sure you two take care of yourselves.” And with that, they part ways.

“Man,” Ann says when she’s gone, stretching her arms above her head and yawning. “Ms. Niijima always makes me feel kinda nervous.” She shakes her head back and forth as if to clear it. “You wanna get lunch?”

So they do, at the closest ramen joint– it’s much colder outside nowadays, and they're both eager to escape the chill. After they’re done with their food they loiter a little in the restaurant, Goro slumping back in his seat, Ann playing idly with the salt-and-pepper shakers on the table.

“So,” she asks him eventually, “how was today?”

“Much better for your being there.”

Ann grins at him. “I’m glad.”

“But the work I agreed to do…” Goro sighs.

“You wanted to, right?”

“I suppose I did. It’s just–  now I’ve made a commitment.” He’s shifty about commitments these days, another bad habit he’s picked up in what he’s decided must be a subconscious effort to distance himself from the Detective Prince, who always showed up on time for interviews and diligently phoned Masayoshi Shido every other Wednesday afternoon. He doesn’t even like calling people anymore. “To be honest, I still feel as if I don’t know what I’m doing,” Goro says, with a humorless laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know why I even try.”

He isn’t sure why he says it to Ann. Most likely it’s because of her nature– the way she communicates, so foreign to Goro, so _good_ that it’s transfixing. Even if she doesn’t understand, Ann always tries, and that effort is the opposite of pity– pity he can too often sense others feel for him, pity that always makes his skin crawl.

Ann looks at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then ventures, “You kinda sound like Shiho.”

“Shiho?” The name sounds familiar. “That’s…”

“My friend, who used to go to Shujin with us. She just graduated, too. She was... a victim of Kamoshida’s. ”

...Right. Shiho Suzui, was it? A near-suicide. He’d learned that name when he was working on the Phantom Thieves’ case. “If she was a victim, then I'm nothing like her,” Goro says, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“I don’t think so,” Ann says quietly. “It’s like… it’s about losing faith, isn’t it? Volleyball let her down. Um, no, that’s not right, I’m sorry. The whole… hierarchy let her down.” She makes a scrambled gesture with her hands that Goro assumes is supposed to represent _hierarchy_ somehow but doesn’t really look like anything. “The way it was at Shujin… the order of power... It failed her over and over again.”

Order– so mechanical, so murderous. Goro thought anything would be better than seeing it maintained, than continuing to live through the daily abuses carried out so neatly, fitting so perfectly into the system. He dreamed of seeing Japan crumble. He wished fervently for a world of chaos.

But it amounted to nothing more than a bored child’s destructive impulses. After all, even as he was fantasizing, he was becoming a part of the thing he most loathed.  

“So it was really hard for her to have faith in anything again,” Ann continues quietly. “She loved volleyball. She really loved it. And she still does. She just had to… learn to love it again, a different way. Now she helps teach kids how to play, at the rec center near where she lives.” Ann smiles. “I don’t know. I guess I’m saying… even though she was heartbroken, she didn’t want to give up. She found a small way to keep going.” She coughs. “Sorry, I don’t mean to preach or anything! Just… small steps, you know?”

 _Small steps._ At first he thinks it’s a ridiculous term to apply to himself, in terms of all that’s happened. But at the same time… isn’t going forward, slowly, the only thing that makes sense? The only thing he can do?

Goro scratches his cheek and looks down at the table, trying to think of a way to respond. “That’s… thank you. I mean…” He laughs a little. “I suppose giving up has never been in my nature.”

“There you go.” Ann beams. “I know you can do it, Goro. You’re already so strong, and clever, too!” She grins sheepishly. “Sometimes I even feel weird talking to you because you’re so much smarter than me.”

“Ridiculous,” Goro says, leaning backwards. “You know more about how people work than I ever will.”

“What?” Ann protests. “I don’t think I’m like that at all…”  

“Oh, please,” says Goro. “I’m fairly certain there’s nothing stopping you from gaining your own kingdom and amassing an army of loyal subjects.” To drive the point home, he stands up and bows. “All hail Queen Ann.”

“Aw, come on!” Ann says, blushing, but she’s laughing all the same.

Goro laughs along with her, and for a moment there’s lightness in his chest. He thinks maybe he did the right thing, for once.

* * *

Ren is a godawful texter. Although Goro would like to pretend that this is not a problem, considering that Ren is a frustratingly significant amount of miles away and messaging is the only way for Goro to receive confirmation that he hasn’t gotten himself killed trying to start an anarchist revolution in the sticks, this vice of his is a frequent annoyance. Especially when Goro is trying to– no, _about_ to– win an argument.

After a few more minutes of waiting in vain for a read receipt to appear next to his last message, Goro gnashes his teeth and hits the call button.

A brief dial tone, and then Ren answers, sounding lazy. “Hello?”

“You claim,” says Goro, “that knowing the outcome of a story enhances your experience of it, because of an _enhanced outlook_.”  

“...I would have replied if you had just given me a few more minutes.”

“Try hours. You’re forgetting that manifold stories are meant to be re-experienced. People reread books and rewatch movies and play games more than once, _Ren,_  because they find that doing so adds value to their experience of the work. If you’re looking for a wider outlook, _that’s_ the way to do it.”

There's a silence, and then Ren breaks out into laughter, a sound that Goro would maybe smile at if he weren't so annoyed. “You're actually mad at me about this.”

“I am, because it’s a ridiculous opinion,” Goro snaps, and Ren laughs again, and then Goro suddenly realizes something and closes his mouth.

“Okay, listen,” Ren says, sounding more alert now, “it's like this– when I’m spoiled on something, I can…”

But Goro can barely focus, because a feeling of dread has overcome him, a sudden crippling sensation that makes his mouth taste dry.  

He only refocuses when he hears Ren say his name. “Goro? You there? Amazed by my genius yet?”

“...Ha,” Goro says, and puts all his genuine effort, all of his pleasant warmth into it. “You know, you do make a good argument. Next time I’ll make sure to see if your theory holds water. I suppose I shouldn’t discount your point of view until I’ve put your philosophy into practice.”

Ren doesn’t say anything, which makes Goro try to fill the silence. “I’ll have to thank you for showing me–”

“Goro.”

“Hm?”

“You okay?”

“What?” Goro laughs. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because you suddenly sound like a different person. That’s usually not a good sign.”

Goro, caught off-guard, can’t think of a response, but he doesn’t get a chance to reply, anyway, because Ren’s talking again. “You know, lately, when we talk, it’s like… you’re always trying not to step on my toes.”

“I’m afraid I fail to understand why that displeases you.” Goro manages a laugh. “Do you mean to say you prefer hostility to polite conversation?”

“I prefer _honesty_. Goro, you don't seriously expect me to believe that you don't disagree with me. You always have holes to poke in my arguments. You literally were just doing it. So poke ahead.”

“That’s– I’m sorry, I’m really at a loss. You prefer it when I argue with you? When I’m saying things that could hurt you? What fault do you find in my trying to avoid that?”

“Goro, that's– what? That’s not how anything works. That's not how friends works. You and I–” Ren pauses for a second. “We can’t keep going with you acting like you owe me something.”

Goro feels irritation mount. “Then what are we supposed to do, if I may ask? Move on? Simply forget that all of it ever happened? Things aren’t that _simple_ , Ren, even in the perfect little universe in which you live.”

“Hey,” Ren says, a warning note in his voice, and Goro falls silent.

“I know,” Ren continues. “I know all that.” Ren’s normally soft voice takes on an edge. His frustration is audible even through all the processes that work to transmit voice to signal to ear. Goro forgets, sometimes, that phone calls can never be the same again, with his hearing the way it is– all other sound disappears when he has his phone up to his hearing ear. He thinks a lot these days about radio waves and frequencies, pitches and decibels. But even when Ren’s voice is the only sound in his world, if Goro lets his thoughts run wild, it’s like he can’t understand Ren at all.

So he tries not to think. He tries to listen.  

Ren sighs, a rush of static. For another few seconds, neither of them speak.

“Goro,” says Ren finally, “I’m not so much of a pushover that I won’t let you know when you’re actually doing something that pisses me off.”

“But…”

“And right now– we’re just talking.” There’s a smile in Ren’s voice, and the knot in Goro’s chest eases a little. “I like talking to you. I know there’s a lot of things we don’t agree on, but you always listen to me. You do listen, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Goro manages. “Of course.”

“Good.” Ren pauses for a second. “Alright, enough of that. Now tell me why I'm wrong... if you dare. Use that big great impressive brain you supposedly have.”

Goro smiles, feeling relieved, feeling lighter. “Oh,” he replies, “I _will_.”

“But really, though,” Ren adds. “Who actually rereads books?”

Ren can't see him, but Goro’s mouth falls open in outrage. “Now, you listen–”  

* * *

January brings good news: both Ren and Ann have passed their entrance exams. Ren’s done well, well enough to be admitted into a respectable mid-tier Tokyo university. Ann’s secured admission to another one in the city, with an intent to major in English. She declares her intent to treat Goro to milkshakes to celebrate and thank him for his help, but when she’s short on change at the store he ends up paying anyway, waving aside her distress by telling her it’s her reward.

Goro’s finished his work at the hospital, too, the reports written and submitted. It would be nice to be paid, but Goro only really counts as Sae’s junior. Sae’s taken him out to eat enough times that he thinks that may function as compensation, though.

He should really improve his diet.

When he has his final meeting with the hospital administrator, she smiles at him from behind her desk. “Thank you, again, for your hard work. This is very impressive, especially for someone your age.”

Sae left the last report largely up to him, offering only occasional advice and supervision. Goro’s quite proud of what he’s done, and it feels nice to be recognized. “Thank you,” Goro says, bowing slightly. “I appreciate it.”

“If I hear there’s a need, I just might pass along your name to others in my network– if that’s all right with you, of course. People are always looking for youth with strong communication skills.”

“Oh… yes, of course,” Goro replies. A little surprising, but it’s nothing, really. People say those kinds of things all the time– she probably meant it flippantly; Goro doesn’t expect any kind of opportunity to arise from this. But at the same time, the warmth of being acknowledged carries him out of the office and towards the hospital’s exit.

He’s in the lobby, almost to the doors, when he hears “Gorooo.”

It’s an unfamiliar voice that uses his first name, a child’s voice. Goro turns and is duly surprised to see Kagami, that young girl from the first time he was here. She’s wearing another distinctive hat with flaps.

Goro notices that her father is behind her, and she’s standing closer to Goro, which means she’s probably been calling him for a while.

Goro touches his ear. “Ah,” he says. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Kagami says matter-of-factly. “I remembered.”

“Ah, excuse me,” her father says, coming closer. “Do we know…”

Goro steps forward, too, and bows slightly. “I’m Goro Akechi. We haven’t met properly, but I ran into Kagami here a few months ago.”

“Oh… right, I remember now! I’m Fuyuki Kato **.** It’s nice to meet you.” He looks down at his daughter. “Say hello, Kagami.”

“Hi,” she says.

Kato’s phone suddenly buzzes, and he examines it before sighing softly. “Just when we were leaving… I have to go confirm something with her doctor. Kagami, could you–” He frowns.

“I can stay with her,” Goro hears himself say.

“Would you?!” Kato doesn’t give him a chance to go back on his offer. “I really appreciate it! I’ll only be a few minutes. Be good, okay, Kagami?” And with that he’s gone.

Goro feels himself break out in a cold sweat. For all the life experience he’s amassed in his twenty years, he still feels intimidated at the thought of dealing with a child.

Kagami looks up at him and says, “Why isn’t your friend here?”

Oh, she means Ann. “She’s busy.”

“Oh. Why?”

“She’s studying.”

Kagami frowns. “I hate studying. Do you go to school?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Lucky.”

“So,” Goro says awkwardly. “What grade are you in?”

“Second.”

“That must be… fun.”

“Whatever,” Kagami says. “I don’t like school.”

“Why not?”

“It’s boring and I’m barely there because I’m absent all the time because I’m sick so I never know what’s happening.” Kagami picks at her nails. “Daddy’s worried because I’m behind and I might have to do second grade again.”

“And what about your mother?”

“Don’t have a mom.”

So Kato’s a single father, on top of having an ill child. “I don’t have a mom, either,” Goro says.

Kagami looks up at him. “Oh,” she says. “Sorry.”

Thankfully, Kato returns then before things can get too heartwarming. He thanks Goro.

“No trouble at all,” Goro says with a professional smile.

“You…” He looks at Goro, considering. “You’re here a lot, then, aren’t you?”

“Well, I’ve just completed the project I was working on for the legal department, so there isn’t much of a need for me to be here anymore.” Goro laughs politely.

“I see. Listen, you…” Kato runs a hand through his hair. “You seem like a reliable young man, and the thing is– well, I’m sorry if this is out of the blue, but Kagami…” He clasps his hands together. “I’ve been looking for a tutor for her. Just for homework, studying, that kind of thing.”

Goro is taken aback. “Well, I don’t think that finding a willing person should be too difficult of a task,” he says quickly.

“But I just haven’t had time to look for someone who’s competent,” Kato says desperately. “It’s a little complicated, because Kagami has leukemia.”

Goro figured as much.

“She’s at the stage in her treatment where she only needs to return for occasional chemo sessions,” Kato continues, “but it can be hard to find someone who’s willing to accommodate her. Because she’s weaker than most children, you know… And Kagami knows you already, and you– are you a college student?”

“No, I… I have a job. I’m sorry, I don’t know if I have the time to–”

“I’ll work with your schedule! And I can pay you, no problem.”

Goro isn’t bad at saying no to people. In all honesty, he finds it very easy. But Kato looks as if he’s at his wit’s end. Along with the sympathy Goro feels, a feeling of resentment flares– sometimes it’s almost painful to look upon someone like this, a father who cares so deeply for his child.

Goro turns his gaze to Kagami, who’s standing behind her father, still absorbed in picking at her nails.

...Damn it. What else does he have to do, anyway? Read the same article on Hegel again or set aside time for yet another binge-viewing of the latest never-ending serial?

“Well,” Goro says, “all right.”

Kato’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thank you so much. You’ve really saved me here.”

“But there’s no need to pay me,” Goro says.

“Ah… really?” Kato looks confused, and a little wary.

Goro supposes it must seem odd to not request payment. He clears his throat. “Yes, I… it really isn't any trouble to help someone at Kagami’s grade level. I wouldn't feel right asking for money.”

It’s not a lie. Goro’s a little surprised at himself– but it's not a lie.

“Well, in that case…” Kato looks cheered again. “Great! Let me get your information.”

They exchange phone numbers, promising to set a date for a tutoring session later.

Kagami looks up at him. “You…” she says. “Do you like school stuff?”

“I suppose so,” says Goro.

Kagami looks unimpressed. “Okay. See you later, Goro.”

After Kato thanks him again and they say their goodbyes, Goro thinks he might not have won her approval just yet.

He can’t get any sleep that night, as usual, but this new development is keeping him awake. He knows how to use a gun, and this well-meaning father called him a _reliable young man_.

But this man…

Goro rolls over on his side, reaches for his phone, and types a message.  

> [00:14] **Goro** : Could I ask you for a favor?  
>  [00:16] **Futaba:** what?  
>  [00:17] **Goro:** I’ve become acquainted with a man and his daughter.  
>  [00:17] **Goro** : I’d like to know a little more about the father.  
>  [00:17] **Goro** : Simply to make sure he’s legitimate, of course.  
>  [00:18] **Goro** : I was wondering if you could find some information for me.  
>  [00:19] **Futaba:** and youve got a reason to think this guy is shady or  
>  [00:20] **Goro:** This is more of a background check.  
>  [00:20] **Futaba:** then no  
>  [00:21] **Goro:** Can I ask why?  
>  [00:23] **Futaba:** well im not yr personal information broker first of all  
>  [00:23] **Futaba** : also if you wanna know more abt this dude and his kid  
>  [00:23] **Futaba:** maybe just like get to know them  
>  [00:24] **Futaba:** take it from a girl whos routinely stalked people to avoid interaction  
>  [00:25] **Futaba:** it kinda doesnt help  
>  [00:25] **Futaba:** maybe stop treating everything like yr working a case  
>  [00:26] **Goro:** Would you respond more favorably to a bribe?  
>  [00:27] **Futaba** : usually yes but rn i am trying to dispense wise advice so pls show appreciation  
>  [00:28] **Goro** : All right, fine. Thank you.  
>  [00:28] **Futaba** : yea yea  
>  [00:28] **Futaba** : go to bed

* * *

Winter blusters onward, and Goro keeps busy. He has a few tutoring sessions with Kagami. He never knows where they’re meant to take place until Kato texts him, sometimes only a few hours beforehand. Mostly he goes to the public library, but a few times he’s had to show up at stranger places like the hospital food court. Goro tries to ensure that they don’t meet anywhere busier. With his deafness, trying to make out others’ words in noisy places is close to impossible.

Kagami seems generally reticent, though Goro suspects she has something of a mischievous streak– he’s begun to find his things misplaced when he returns to the table, and she still has that sly laugh. With that said, she usually grudgingly finishes most of her work if Goro’s stern enough, though she doesn’t seem ready to open up to him just yet.

He obtains another document for Futaba, another one that's largely tangential to Isshiki’s larger body of work, but a piece of her nonetheless. And as always, she asks him for other things, too. Like picking up poster-board for a group project she’s required to complete at school. Or dropping by the Sakura household after work with takeout food.

He… isn’t exactly happy about being her lackey, but if it's justice, he’ll swallow his complaints. And sometimes when he comes by with food, he’ll sit with her and watch anime, because it seems like what she wants him to do. She doesn’t exactly explicitly acknowledge his presence, but it’s… something.

The serial he’s been following ends its latest season on a cliffhanger. People online are inconsolable. Work at the bookstore continues to be uneventful. He watches Hirakawa get into the occasional argument with a customer over post-war versus pre-modern literature and regularly arranges the display in the window without being asked. 

Time passes in such a way, and then one day when he’s waiting for his train in the station an old man next to him says something Goro doesn’t quite catch.

“I beg your pardon?” Goro says, looking up from his phone with surprise. He’s grown to be sharply wary of any stranger who speaks to him, fearing they might recognize the Detective Prince– but no, this man seems to be just another face in the crowded train station.

He smiles at Goro. “I said it's finally the first day of spring. Don’t look so moody!”

“Actually,” Goro says, “for the millions of people with allergies, this is the worst season of all.” He shakes his head and smiles politely. “And don’t even get me started on the rainy weather. There’s even some in the forecast for tomorrow– have you seen?”

The man’s mouth turns down in a frown just as Goro’s train pulls into the station.

“Ah, there’s my train,” Goro says cheerfully. “Thanks for the conversation!”

His mood is improved when he finds there’s even room for himself to take a seat on the train. Goro folds his hands in his lap, looking up at the ceiling of the car as people squeeze in around him.

The advent of spring and insufferable strangers who insist on speaking to him in public places are all well and good, but what matters most to Goro is that today is the day that Ren returns.

“You’re early,” Sojiro says when he arrives at Leblanc.

“I hope that’s not a problem.”

“This is a business, and we’re open, so… it’s not. Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Goro says, relieved, and sits down at the counter.

After a moment Sojiro sets a cup out in front of him. Then the minutes begin to tick by. Goro waits. And waits.

“Kid, if you keep fidgeting, you’re going to make _me_ nervous,” Sojiro says.

Goro apologizes and tries to keep still. Eventually Sojiro, seeing him stare despondently at the wall for a few minutes, takes pity on Goro and passes him a book that’s been lying at the end of the counter. It’s a modern novel with a slightly cliché plot, not really to his tastes, but he’s still paging through it when he hears the door to the café open.

Goro turns.

“Hey,” Ren says.

“Hi,” Goro replies.

Ren looks just the same as usual, wearing a bulky denim jacket and a shirt Goro can just barely make out under it as having his hometown high school’s name written across the front. He hovers in the doorway for another moment, looking at Goro, before Sojiro bids him sit down and Ren slides into the next chair.

“So,” Goro says to him. “You survived the move-in process.”

Ren grins. “Just barely.”

“How’s your apartment?”

“I just came from there, actually. It kind of looks like shit right now. Unpacking and all. Lots of boxes for Mona to nap in, though. Anyway, I didn’t want anyone there, but all the… Ann and Ryuji and everyone kind of just showed up. Planned it beforehand, I guess.”

They chat idly for a little while longer. Eventually Ren starts drumming his fingers on the table, and then begins to kick at the leg of his chair, so it isn’t surprising when he suddenly stands up and says, “Hey, let’s go for a walk.”

Goro rises, too. “To where?”

“Wherever.” Ren shrugs and grins. “Promise we won’t get lost.”

They make their way through Yongen-Jaya’s backstreets and alleys. As usual Ren is on Goro’s right, the side of his good ear. Ren has a spring in his step, and twice they run into someone he knows, a shopkeeper or a resident, so Goro stands politely to the side as they exchange greetings.

After the second person, Goro says, “You love the city, don’t you.” It’s less a question than it is a statement of truth.

Ren turns to him, seeming a little surprised, but then he looks away and smiles. “Yeah,” Ren says. “Yeah, I do.”

Ren really does belong here. Goro is relieved that Ren thinks so, too, that such a belief wasn’t simply Goro’s own selfish certainty. It’s funny– Goro loathes Tokyo more than he likes it, but even this dusty alley takes on a glow when he considers it through Ren’s eyes.

Goro tells him about Kagami. Ren’s eyebrows rise in amusement. “You and a kid, huh?”

“Yes. It’s been… an interesting change of pace.”

“As long as she doesn’t find out you’re a nerd. Then she won’t respect you anymore, you know.”

“Ha ha ha.”

They walk for another moment in companionable silence. And then Goro feels the sudden need to venture, “And you… you’re happy?”

Ren raises his eyebrows. “Shouldn't I be?”

“That isn't a real answer.”

“Well, that’s barely a real question.”

Goro frowns. “Don’t be evasive.”

“What do you want me to say, Goro?” Ren tries a laugh, but it sounds a little tight. “Of course I’m happy, so no need to worry, it’s a good thing I’m still alive?”

Ren closes his mouth abruptly, like he’s suddenly realized he’s said too much.

To Goro, it’s suddenly very clear.

“You’re still angry at me,” Goro says.

Ren turns to him, surprised, but after a moment, his expression levels into evenness. “Goro–”

“Just say it.” Goro keeps his eyes fixed ahead. “I want to hear it from you.”

There’s a pause, and then Ren, sounding matter-of-fact, speaks up. “Okay. I’m still angry at you.”

Goro waits.

“Shit. I don’t know. That might not even be true.” Ren runs a hand through his hair. “I know I’m angry. I don’t know if it’s at you, or… the way things were, or the way they are now, but… yeah.” Ren closes his eyes, briefly, and opens them again. “I’m angry.”

Standing on the side of the street, they’re alone. The only sounds to be heard are the distant noises of traffic from the main road and the _whoosh_ of the gentle wind blowing past. Goro looks at Ren, standing half in sunlight, half in shadow, his head bowed low and his bangs obscuring his eyes.

“Even afterwards,” Goro says, “when we fought together– you never said anything. You were just sarcastic. God, you made _jokes_.”

“Yeah, well… that’s how I process my emotions.” Ren looks up and smiles wryly.

Goro looks away. “And I didn't want to think about… how you felt. I was still–”

Still boiling with resentment and envy. Still fascinated by everything Ren was and still is. Acting just like a child, avoiding the truth out of guilt.

“I was stupid,” says Goro, and laughs, hollowly. “So stupid.”

“Yeah, well, what about me?” Ren’s voice is soft. “I can’t even talk about how I feel enough to be upset with the guy who tried to kill me.”

“And that isn’t _fair_ ,” Goro murmurs. “For you to tell me that you dislike it when I’m dishonest and then– you pretend that everything’s fine. It was… decidedly not fine.”

“Yes. Unfine, even. I know. I’m being a hypocrite. But… everything I’m trying to say, what I’m thinking– I can’t… I feel like I’ll never be able to say it right.” Ren hesitates. “Sometimes when I looked at you, you used to make me think about… ”

He stops, and Goro feels frustration bubbling within him. “Just say it.”

“Corruption,” Ren says softly. “In every sense.”

Ren may as well have stabbed him in the gut. Goro can’t look at him anymore, suddenly– he turns away without even bothering to soften the erratic movement of his shoulder.

“Hey.” Ren reaches out and grabs Goro’s wrist before he can move far enough away.   

Goro looks, first at Ren’s hand around his wrist, then at Ren.

Ren exhales, a breath of air that’s halfway to a laugh. “I don’t see you like that anymore. I get it now. That you’re more than what happened to you. But what did happen– to you, to me, everything– was so much that for a while, it was like I didn’t know what I was looking at. When I saw you, I mean.”

“If I may ask,” Goro says quietly, “what do you see now?”

“Hmm.” Ren considers him. “A 6. Maybe a 7.”

“Humor replaces emotion again, I see,” Goro says flatly. “And I know you’re joking, because we both know I’m a 10 without trying.”

Ren laughs. “All right, all right. To me, right now, you’re a real friend.”

It’s an answer that seems like it comes from a foolish sentiment, but for just a moment, Goro’s rendered speechless.

Ren lets go of his wrist– Goro almost forgot he was still holding it.

“You know… it feels like nothing I know applies to you. Nothing I’ve learned about fate, or blame, or… But that’s part of why I like you, you know. Why I’m grateful you’re around. Do you... remember what I told you?” Ren says quietly. “When I came back from detention?”

“Yes,” Goro says.

“Well, I’m reconsidering that. I mean, I think most of it’s still true, but… it’s not because of something unfinished, that you have and I don’t have either. It’s not something we lack together. It’s something that we both have.” Ren hesitates. “I just don’t know what it is yet.”

“Eloquent,” Goro can’t help but say.

Ren cuts his eyes at him. “Don’t be an ass. The point is that I can feel it, and, uh… you can’t always define feelings. Or whatever.”

Great, Ren sounds like Dr. Watanabe– everything in his life converges, Goro thinks, to distract himself from how Ren’s words are making him feel strangely flustered. He clears his throat and looks away. “Yes, I suppose I understand.”

For some reason Goro feels the need to venture, “If you want, you could hit me, or something.”

...Having an awakened conscience really is inconvenient. As if one blow could make amends for everything. Still, Goro doesn’t regret saying it, as ridiculous as it sounds.

Goro expects to have to explain, but instead Ren just considers him in response, putting a hand to his chin. He’s silent for a frighteningly long moment before saying, “Nah. I don’t want another assault charge under my belt.”

“I could tell inquiring minds that I walked into a door.”

Ren laughs. “You expect me to leave bruises or something?”

“You had bruises,” Goro says before he can stop himself.

Ren freezes.

God. Fuck. Why did he say that?

Ren heaves a sigh. “And we were being funny.”

“We were,” Goro says gloomily.

They’re silent for a moment,

“I don’t want to hit you, Goro,” Ren says eventually. “Or shove you into a door. Actually, I feel less mad now that I told you I was mad.” He gives him a half-smile. “I guess I really should… try to keep less bottled up.”

“I wish you would,” Goro says, a sudden flare of emotion overcoming him. “When you have so many people who care, you–” He digs his nails into his palms and takes a breath before he continues. “You and your hero complex. Just who do you think that helps?”

“...I know,” Ren says, sounding tired. It's almost certainly not the first time he's been admonished for this. “I know.” He clears his throat. “Thanks for caring about me. I know you do.”

Goro looks down. _Of course I do_ , he thinks.

They’re silent for another moment, and then Goro says, “I’ve been angry, too. For a long time. And now– even now I find myself unsure of how to go on, now that being angry can’t help me anymore.”

“Did it ever really help?” Ren says softly.

Goro pauses. “Probably. But not in the right ways. It was all that kept me going. I would probably be dead by now if I hadn’t been angry for so long.”

“I think,” Ren says, considering, “you’re going to find more things that make you want to go on.”

Goro looks away. “I can only hope so.”

They keep walking, and eventually circle back closely to where they started at Leblanc.  

“Oh, right,” Ren says suddenly after they stand there awkwardly for a moment staring at the storefront. “I wanted to get your input on something.”

“What is it?”

“I have an offer to intern for Yoshida during his campaign.”

“Who?” Goro says flatly.

“Toranosuke Yoshida.” Ren’s pulling out his phone, and as Goro watches, he types something into the search field on his browser before passing it to Goro.

Goro takes the offered phone and scrolls through the search results. There’s several news articles about this man, and a clearer picture soon emerges. It seems he’s a progressive politician, with positions that Goro thinks are quite extraordinary for someone attempting to enter the mainstream.

“So he was unsuccessful in his last attempt to run,” Goro says.

“Well, yeah. But he’s just getting back on his feet. These things take time.” Ren shrugs. “Anyway, the thing is that I don’t know how I feel about working for a politician.”

“That aside, has this Yoshida _met_ you?” Goro’s sure that Ren’s steadfast anarchism, born from a wealthy boy’s heartbroken indignation at an unjust verdict, and solidified mostly through pure stubbornness, would be sorely out of place within a government structure.

Ren laughs. “Yoshida’s a little different. I met him when he was basically disgraced, giving lectures on the street. But he’s a good guy.”

Is it even possible for Ren to sell his soul? He tries to hide his feelings, his passions, but he just isn’t good at it. He never has been. His eyes were always too bright behind those innocent-looking glasses. Confronted with a prodigy detective and a TV hostess’ pushy questions, he couldn't stop himself from speaking up for the Phantom Thieves. His soft, measured voice always seemed louder when he spoke justice.

“I don’t know,” Ren says. “I trust Yoshida, but I still…”

Goro lets him flounder for another moment before taking pity. “Ha. Shall we talk politics? For the past few years I only paid attention to the circus insofar as it concerned my… duties. I had my eyes set on one would-be despot to take down, and I couldn’t be bothered to give a damn about anybody else. They’ve all been corrupted to some degree, Ren. Such is the nature of those who wield power.”

“Is… there gonna be a more optimistic coda to that?”

“No.”

“Ah.”

“But with that said,” Goro continues, “you’re the opposite of what those men represent. You're cynical about all the right things and an idealist when it comes to… most everything else. You're too stubborn to throw your principles away with one job. You'll be fine. You may even do some good.”

He means it.

Ren smiles. “You really think so?”

“I really do.”

“Wow. Thank you.” Ren seems cheered. “That makes me feel better. It's not like I have any faith in the system, but I have a lot of faith in Yoshida. Like, as a person who I know. He, uh…” Ren rubs the back of his neck and mutters something.

“What? Don't mumble. I always tell you I can't hear you when you mumble.”

Ren sighs and says, more clearly, “He knows I, uh, was…” He mimes ripping off a mask.

“ _Ren_.”

“Whaaat?”

“Are you–” It doesn’t take much effort for Goro to recall everything Ren’s let slip in previous conversations or for him to build his case. “Takemi, that Airsoft fanatic, your _homeroom teacher–_ just _how many–_ ”

“Hey, hey, it's not like I went around advertising it.” Ren rubs the back of his head. “It just happened. Don’t worry, everybody's trustworthy.”

“I can't believe you didn't get caught earlier.” Goro shakes his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, yeah. You always say that.”

“It never ceases to be true.”

“Well, anyway, no matter how this turns out, I'm not gonna become a politician.” Ren makes a face. “You can kill me before that happens.”

“What, once more?”

Ren arches an eyebrow, and Goro feels the urge to wince and beg pardon– but then Ren grins. “Well,” he says, “there’s no one I trust more to do the job.”

* * *

After bidding Ren farewell, Goro heads to the fishing pond in Ichigaya. Being there helps him clear his head.

There are a lot of people here today, owing to the nice weather, so Goro’s able to blend in with the crowd, claiming an overturned crate and a corner of the pond for himself. Staring into the water and waiting for a bite, he absently bites his own bottom lip.

It’s spring, and there are things to look forward to. Ren, back in the city. More opportunities, if he can find them. Raising Kagami’s grade in math.

Maybe something’s starting. Or maybe things are simply moving forward as usual, progressing as well as they can. Not very exciting– but gentle enough for him to appreciate.

Small steps, Goro reminds himself, tightening his grip around the fishing pole. For now, it’s enough.

* * *

There’s a reason Ren’s number is back on his phone, that Ren is back in his life.

It was the February after that fateful November. Afternoon was just turning into evening, and Goro was coming back from getting groceries at the convenience store across the street– well, if a large quantity of instant meals counted as groceries. He climbed the stairs to get to his apartment as usual and immediately stepped back when he saw Ren Amamiya standing next to his door, arms folded, watching him approach.

“Hello,” Ren said.

The first thing Goro noticed was that Ren was angry. It wasn’t immediately obvious, but Goro could tell. It wasn’t because of the _presence_ of anything indicative **,** it was more evident because of the _absence_ of something in Ren’s demeanor– no laid-back stance, no easy playfulness in his eyes.

But this observation was soon overpowered by Goro’s own righteous indignation. “Why are you here?” he demanded curtly.

“Morgana came back,” Ren said.

“What?”

“You wouldn’t know, huh? You left the group chat, after all. And I can’t text you anymore. You know anything about that?”

“I'm sure you're very happy. Send my regards to the cat.” Goro moved to enter his apartment, but Ren stepped in front of the door.

“Why weren't you there?” Ren said calmly.

“Where?”

“At Leblanc today, with everyone else. I thought I was going to see you again. Makoto said she reached out to you. Why didn't you come?”

“Ren.”

“I just _got out of jail_ ,” said Ren, “you know.”

The last time Ren had come to his apartment, Goro had thought he looked simply resigned. Now he was standing in the afternoon sun, as righteous as usual, but with a new world-weariness that made him seem older.

Goro asked the question he’d been craving the answer to for those past few months. “Why did you turn yourself in?”

“To protect the others,” Ren said simply.

“You’re a hypocrite,” Goro said.

Ren blinked.

“You told me not to do it. You said it would do no good. Who deserved it more? Me or you?!” Goro dropped his bag of groceries, packets of instant noodles crashing to the floor.

“It was just the way it happened,” Ren said, calm as usual. “There was more evidence against me. There was nothing we could have–”

“God,” Goro cut in, “you really, really, piss me off. You make me so _angry_. You know that? And now you’re here asking me where I was today, like that’s going to accomplish anything! Face it, Ren, I don’t want to see you. And if you were honest with yourself, you’d realize you don’t want to see me, either!”  

“Hey.” Ren raised his voice, coming closer to him. “Don’t–”  

“Thanks so much for your martyrdom,” Goro snapped, “but did you ever consider the fact that you _used me_ ?” Goro felt his heart begin to pound, heard the way his voice wavered. “Almost the same way as _he_ did! Where I thought that I was in _control!_ And you– the whole time, the whole time– I was there to pull the trigger, and you knew, and you made me a part of your plan!”

Ren looked shocked. “Goro–”

“I know it was my fault! I know it was! That none of it would have happened if I’d just–” Goro clenched his fist. “I don’t know, killed myself! Or refused, or if I hadn’t gone to him in the first place! But you still– you knew everything and you still let me. Because it was _convenient_.”  

“I didn’t–” Ren had gone pale.  

“I wanted to make him _suffer_. But before he could feel anything at all, you killed him.”

“Shido’s alive,” Ren said quietly. “He’s in jail–”

“That’s not him. That’s only his shell. Face it, Ren. You and yours–” Goro laughed bitterly. “You may not have put a bullet in his head, but _you killed my father_.”

His words echoed bitterly in the dead air of their surroundings.

Ren said, slowly, “I know this wasn't how you wanted it.”

“Of course it isn't how I fucking wanted it.”

“You were willing to sacrifice yourself for us,” Ren said suddenly. “I won’t forget that. I can’t forget that.”

Goro closed his eyes, hoping fervently that when he opened them Ren would disappear, that he was only an apparition, a dream. But when he dared to look again, Ren was still there. The wind was blowing his bangs into his eyes.

“I’m nothing like you,” Goro told him. “It’s in your best interest to forget about me.”

“Yeah,” Ren said, “I don’t think that first part’s actually true.”

Goro, caught off guard, could only look at him in surprise.  

“Goro,” Ren said. “Can I come inside?”

Goro looked to his closest neighbor’s door, thinking of the noise they were making. “Fine,” he said eventually.

Ren watched him unlock his door, and then Goro let him in, leading him into the relatively sparse living area. Ren sat patiently in one of the chairs. Goro took the other.

They were silent for a moment, and then, Ren said, quietly, “Can I say something?”

“If you must.”

“All right.” Ren took a breath. “First of all, I’m sorry. I thought– I really thought there was no other choice but to use you the way we did. But all we knew about you, really, was that you wanted to kill me. Maybe if I’d been thinking more, I would’ve realized it all definitely had to be more fucked up than it seemed, that there was something else going on. But... I wasn’t. And I guess– I see now. That wasn’t fair.

“I know you didn’t like our method of stealing hearts,” Ren said, “and I guess you still don’t. But I’m not going to apologize for that. I already chose that path, and it’s done now. Taking their hearts– Kamoshida, Madarame, the others… I don’t regret that. But I am…” He hesitated. “It was your dad. You should have had a chance to–”

Goro was determined not to speak, but he couldn’t help but cut in. “Don’t apologize for that. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I threw my chance for revenge away. I made the decisions I made. You chose your path, and I chose mine.”

Ren looked at him and didn’t reply for a moment. He studied Goro like he was looking for something, and it made Goro shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Can I tell you why I’m here?” Ren said finally.

Goro looked at him, a wordless _go on._

“What you said before– it’s not fair of you to tell me how to feel, you know. I do want to see you. Because…"

Ren looked down at his lap. “You’re going to tell me this doesn’t make sense. But I’ve been doing some thinking. There’s a lot of time for that in juvenile detention, actually.” He laughed a little. “Man, I’m really… I’m really tired."

He shifted his gaze and stared up at the ceiling. “I feel like the way it all ended didn’t make sense. I feel like... maybe the most important part of my life is over, and I don’t even know if I made that much of a difference. I’m supposed to be trusting the world to right itself without the Thieves, but it’s as if I’m just leaving everything up to chance.”

This was the most he'd ever heard Ren speak at once, Goro realized.  

“Things are finished, but it doesn’t feel like an ending to me,” Ren said quietly. Then he looked right at Goro. “I wanted to ask you if you felt like that, too.”

“Of course I do. Obviously I do.” Goro gritted his teeth, and the yearning for a fight was back.

But Ren was just looking at him placidly, as if he really thought he and Goro were kindred spirits. It was such a ridiculous idea that Goro wanted to laugh.

Trapped by the force of that gaze, for a moment Goro felt frozen, but Ren didn’t rush him. He just sat there and waited.

After a moment, Goro managed to say, “I didn’t intend for it to go this far. Now I’m stuck.” He laughed humorlessly. “As you can see, no one knows what to do with me. But I don’t understand why you feel that way. I thought you got everything you wanted. As always, you’re _free_.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“You know,” Ren said, after a pause, “the rest of the Thieves… all of them were in it for personal reasons. I guess when it came to Shido, how he got me arrested, it got personal for me, too. But at the same time, it was more about… I really thought…” Ren hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. “You’re gonna laugh at me. But you know, I thought I could change the world.”

Goro looked away. “You really are foolish,” he said. “An idealist through and through.”

When Ren didn’t reply, he felt the need to continue. “What makes you think I had any similar ambitions? All I wanted was to destroy Shido. You know that.”

“But you were angry,” Ren said quietly, “because of the way things were. You wanted people to _see_ , didn’t you? To see for themselves, when Shido was disgraced, what they were pretending wasn’t there.”

“Don’t make assumptions about me,” Goro said, but there was no bite in his words. He couldn’t bring himself to deny it, because nothing Ren had said was wrong.

“I’m scared,” Ren said bluntly. “Even though we took down Yaldabaoth, the Grail, even though we saw the people change… I’m scared it’s all going to go back to how it was.”

Before he could stop himself, Goro found himself saying, “I’m scared, too.”  

Something in Ren’s face relaxed.

“If you don’t want anything to do with me again, I won’t force you. If you really want me gone, that’s your choice. But I still think we’re… Well, it’s like I said.” Ren looked away. “I think both of our stories are unfinished.”

“You’re so presumptuous,” Goro muttered. “Coming all the way here… really.”

He should have told Ren to take his naive, stubborn fantasizing and get out. He should have ensured it so that they never saw each other again.

But every time he opened his mouth to say so, he felt as if his words lacked force. Everything he could say seemed weak and silly compared to the force of Ren’s conviction.

Ren waited for a moment, and then said, “Is that a yes?”

“You should think about what you’re saying,” Goro said.

“I have thought about it.” Ren raised his chin, looking at Goro defiantly. “I told you. I’ve had time.”

Goro closed his eyes.

He had already lost when it mattered most. What was another concession?

“All right,” he said. “All right. Fine. I can…” He shook his head. “I don’t mind seeing you again. As always,” he can’t help but add, “you get everything you want.”   

When he opened his eyes, Ren was smiling. Somehow the sight made something tight in Goro’s chest ease up.

“Great,” Ren said. “Then can you unblock my number?”

With some reluctance, Goro did so.

“I’m going back home,” Ren said, afterwards. “To finish my third year. But I’m gonna come back. I’ll see you then.”

“Right.”

“So,” Ren said. He put his hands on his hips. He was the most vibrant thing in Goro’s apartment. “Friends?”

“Whatever,” said Goro.

Ren grinned.


	2. the year of forward momentum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions are made and surprises abound. Goro spends more time with Ren, reunites with some former Thieves, and explains Kantian ethics to a eight-year old, all in the process of coming to terms with the fact that doing good entails at least doing _something _.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, it’s me again. guess what? this fic has a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5xtrNPYUlz0b7Nin7zAwNx?si=YZe3nD64Skq9yVjpK7j2yA)!! because I will take any excuse to make one  
> the lovely hana [drew Goro](https://twitter.com/akchren/status/1110924074211905536) from this fic over on twitter and you should love it as much as I do  
> no specific content warnings this time, but as will be par for the course this is a very long chapter. so, take breaks if you need to! or get yourself a drink and come back. happy to have this part finished... FINALLY...

In Goro’s dreams, he can’t speak. 

It’s been that way for as long as he can remember. Sometimes he's able to muster up a few words, but to his chagrin, they never sound the way he means them to. No matter how hard he tries, his voice in his dreams comes out meek and small and uncertain.

It’s quite a humiliating attempt by his subconscious to humble him, because an awkward manner of speaking is a quality Goro’s come to hate in other people– probably because of the pains Goro took to make himself sound like somebody adults could respect. It’s why he took notice of Ren from the beginning, in the TV station, because despite the little he said, his voice was strong and assured. It’s almost always like that, Goro’s realized as he's come to know Ren better. Irritatingly frequently, actually. 

This time, in the dream, he’s in the Metaverse.

He knows he is because his Personae are within him. He can feel them like he can feel the beating of his heart. 

He's been living for years with his heart torn out. He misses Robin Hood and Loki so deeply– the overwhelming power of their forms beside him in Mementos, the warm feeling of their presence, the way he could hear them speak without words. Without them it’s sometimes hard to remember who he is. 

But these are only distant thoughts, half-formed, because he's in a dream and he has his Personae and he's walking down a long, dark hallway. Shadows swarm him as he goes. They aren't like other Shadows, though; he can't quite make out their forms, and instead of attacking they hiss at him: _Pretender. Counterfeiter. Fool._

Goro keeps trying to explain. "It's not like that," he tries to say. "I'm just doing what I can. I'm doing what I have to do." But his voice is too small and too awkward. It makes no impression. The Shadows don't stick around to let him finish. They only jeer and pass him by. 

He manages to find the will to keep walking, collecting his strength by remembering the Personae burning within his heart. It feels like forever that he goes and goes, until he finally comes to the end of the hall.

There's a door there, slightly ajar, and far too small; he has to duck his head as he pushes it open and enters. The ceiling in the room within is low, too. In the center of the room lies a coffin.

Dream-Goro feels a cold sweat break out under his clothes. You can't reason with the dead. They just don't listen.

That doesn't matter, though. He came here with a purpose. So he approaches the coffin, and leans over. With both hands, he pulls the lid aside– farther, and farther, and farther… 

And then, just as he's about to see inside, he wakes up with a jolt. 

He feels at once the dull pain that comes with limbs shoved into places they shouldn't be for too long. His arms are wrapped around himself, his mouth making uncomfortable contact with the sheets. He touches his face, feels dried-over saliva around his mouth, and winces. 

Goro rises, sitting up in bed, and blinks slowly. 

Time to face the day. 

* * *

...from  _Dr. Watanabe’s Guide to Finding a New You_ , Chapter 4: “Shoot for the Moon!”

Opportunities can easily slip by if we don't have the courage to reach out and take them. 

Taking risks isn’t easy, and it's of course true that not every chance taken will have a pleasant consequence. But taking chances is a part of life! So if you're only holding yourself back because you're afraid that things could go wrong, dare yourself to try something new. 

Apply to that open position or RSVP to that invitation. The voice in your head may warn you of the worst, but for some things, there's truly no way to know until you try. 

Get out there, and don't let fear stop you from succeeding!

* * *

They don't often have customers at Broadcast, but they don’t often need them. Hirakawa owns her own store at the age of twenty-six because of her parents’ wealth and desire to indulge their only child– they pay the rent each month without any complaints, as far as Goro knows, and Hirakawa’s free to operate her self-proclaimed haven for true literary aficionados. Goro can’t imagine what it must be like to not have to worry about money.

Hirakawa doesn’t seem to care very much about the lack of a steady clientele. She’s always absorbed in her own research and writing– she’s never told Goro what she’s working on, and he’s never asked– and frequently spends long hours sitting at the tables typing away at her computer or going through a stack of books. She seems to think of Broadcast as her own personal library. 

So, the business side of things is left to Goro, and lately he’s been making an effort to expand Broadcast’s reach, more out of boredom than anything else. There's the Twitter account, which is still gaining followers, all thanks to Goro. He's run a few promotions, too– seasonal sales and the like that have been successful in drawing people in. And word-of-mouth helps. Whenever he buys groceries in this area he mentions to the people in line that the other bookstore down the street has rats.

Despite all of that, getting a customer is still a noteworthy occurrence. So, when he’s sitting by the register that afternoon and hears the door open, he turns to look. And then his mouth falls open because he’s not even remotely expecting to see Makoto Niijima.

“Oh,” Niijima says.

She’s… different. Her hair is shorter than it was when he knew her, and she’s wearing sportswear and sneakers, with a backpack slung across one shoulder. She looks as surprised as he feels. 

Goro realizes quickly and with mild panic that he literally cannot think of anything to say.

Niijima says, slowly, “I… didn’t know… that you–”

“Of course.” His complete lack of desire to have a conversation causes Prince-mode to activate, and he smiles. “How nice to see you. What can I help you with?” 

Niijima doesn’t reply for a moment– only stares uncomprehendingly at him– before she blinks a few times and seems to get her bearings. “Um… I’m doing a project. For… school. An anthropology class."

Anthropology? Doesn't seem like a very Niijima science. But perhaps it is. It's not as if he knows her very well. 

"I'm looking for memoirs written in the period after 1945," Niijima says hesitantly. "I'd like to look at a cross-section, but there is a particular edition of one that I've been searching for. It's–" 

"Wait a moment," Goro says. "I'll get Hirakawa for you." He steps out in front of the register. 

“Ah,” Niijima murmurs. “Sorry. I can go ask–"

“No, it's all right," Goro says pleasantly, turning to her. “Hirakawa’s the owner. She and I simply have different areas of expertise."

Niijima cocks her head.

Goro continues. "I'm well-versed in pre-modern literature– ah, as well as classics, and philosophy, of course. Hirakawa concentrated in contemporary literature, and she's an expert on modern poetry and our post-war collection. You'll want her help for your project, rather than mine."

"Oh," Niijima says. "You… have everything worked out here, I see."

Before Goro can reply, his boss materializes from behind a shelf. Niijima jumps.

"I'm Hirakawa," she says. Her customer-service demeanor is as monotonically uniform as the rest of her behavior, but with an added note of rightful superiority. Some people take offense. Some people like it. Hirakawa doesn't seem to care one way or the other. "How can I help?"

"Well…" Niijima steps closer, and Goro takes the opportunity to make a swift exit. 

He walks as quickly as possible to the other end of the store and busies himself with shelf-reading, making sure that the rows of books are in order. 

Except Niijima’s there for a while, and he can’t hide forever. When he finally emerges and returns to the register, she’s holding two books in her hands and seems ready to actually buy something. Hirakawa’s nowhere to be seen– she’s probably retreated to her little table in the back once more.

He gives Niijima a tight smile; she nods stiffly. He rings her up in silence and gives her a bag for her books. 

“Thanks,” Niijima says, approaching the entrance. “I’ll just…” She seems as if she wants to say something, but then she hesitates and looks away before turning around and leaving the store. 

Just like that, she’s gone.

Goro stares at the door for a moment before shaking his head. He makes his way to the back and finds Hirakawa right where he expected her to be.

“Congratulations on the sale,” he tells her. 

“Was she someone you know?” Hirakawa looks up, eyes scrutinizing him in that way of hers.

“An old acquaintance,” Goro says, and leaves it at that. 

Later on, when the day is over and he’s on his way home, Goro wonders if he should message Ren about it. He doesn’t know what he’d say, though. “I saw Niijima today.” What difference would it make? 

Makoto Niijima, huh. It’s not as if it’s the first time he’s seen her since it all happened. He meets with Sae frequently, so he’s caught sight of her sister a few times. They haven’t had much to say to each other, though– all their interactions have gone almost exactly like this.

Goro still remembers that twitch Niijima would get in cram school when she couldn’t quite crack a math problem on the first try. She was very easy to read. It was unseemly. Goro almost took real offense at how little she bothered to hide how she felt. There was no way someone like that would be able to make it in the real world, he reasoned. It was why he didn’t feel particularly bad about the way he talked down to her. After all, what could she possibly do? Cry at him? He supposes these aren’t thoughts he’s particularly proud of, now.

Approaching the door to his apartment, Goro shakes his head. Niijima in his store… well, coincidences happen. Not often, but they happen. And it didn't go badly; she didn’t seem like she wanted to bite his head off. All in all, Niijima was never outright cruel to him as everything was happening, and even afterwards. She just seemed… discomfited.

And he can hardly blame her for that. Goro smiles wryly and unlocks his door, thoughts shifting from Niijima to the more pressing matter of what he’s going to make for dinner. 

* * *

He does end up telling Ren about it, the next time they meet for coffee. 

Ren favors a place close to campus, an independent café that isn't really very much like Leblanc– not that there’s any place quite like Leblanc. It's never very crowded– a plus, as it's better for conversation and Goro can hear more. The clientele that does gather here mostly consists of twenty-somethings Goro’s age; here, he could be just another college student. As for the coffee, it’s not bad, and the baristas are always noticeably sweeter to Ren. Goro is pretty sure it's because he flirts with them.

They’ve started meeting here once a week, so Ren can complain about classes and bemoan the state of the modern university system, and Goro can listen and try to make sure Ren hasn’t stepped too far out of line– or do some complaining of his own, if the occasion calls for it. It’s a necessary step for working to be friends, and it’s served them well so far. It’s nice. It sets Goro’s mind at ease to know how Ren’s doing, to see that he seems to be well– despite the fact that Ren clearly has a supernatural ability to survive anything, Goro can’t help but worry about him. 

They sit down with their overpriced beverages. Goro has an iced coffee. Ren takes a sip of the new seasonal drink he bought and declares that he hates it immediately.

“Why don’t you just get something you know you’ll like?” Goro says tiredly. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ren takes another sip, wrinkles his nose at the taste, and puts his cup down on the table. “Anyway, what’d you talk about with Makoto?” 

“We didn’t speak for long. I was surprised to see her. It’s not as if our store is very popular.” 

Ren scratches absentmindedly at his cheek with a fingernail. “I wonder. We haven't talked in a while. I should call her soon.” He looks at Goro again. “You meet anyone else we know lately?” 

“Not recently.”

Once– more than a year ago now– he ran into Sakamoto while jogging. They had a painfully awkward conversation and ended up finishing their run together in relative silence. Then Goro saw him in the same place a few more times, until Sakamoto offered to exercise with him regularly. Goro made excuses, and eventually the invitations stopped coming. 

Then he found a new regular route. He had no need for Sakamoto's pity. 

He hasn’t seen Kitagawa at all since everything happened. Or Okumura, whose name he and Ren never mention in their conversations. Despite everything, Goro’s sometimes convinced that acknowledging she exists will suddenly remind Ren of everything about Goro that is twisted and ugly and scarred. 

He can’t let himself go down that rabbit hole again, though. He has to remember what Ren said last spring. He has to remember that Ren _likes_ him, likes being his friend, and then he has to stop thinking about it before he drives himself crazy. 

“Okay,” says Ren, bringing Goro back to reality. “Hey, speaking of, I was meaning to tell you. Tomorrow, Yusuke’s moving.”

“Moving?”

“Yeah.” Ren smiles genially at him. “If you’re free, you can come help.”

“What?”

“Come help,” Ren repeats. “We need hands for the whole process. It’s just me, Ryuji, and Yusuke. And I guess Mona will want to come, too. It’ll be fun, maybe. Kind of like a guy’s day type of thing.” 

“Like a _what_?” Goro is making too many consecutive interrogative noises. Experiencing Ren’s schemes and indulging his caprices always makes him sound like an idiot. 

“It’ll be fun?” Ren repeats hopefully.

Goro sighs. “Why don’t you just ask Niijima? I’m sure she’ll be of more help than Kitagawa. Can he even lift a box? Can _you_ even lift a box?”

“Yusuke said she’s busy. We need you and your big, strong arms.” Ren bats his eyelashes. 

He has very long eyelashes. Goro swiftly redirects his line of thinking. “What if I’m not free?”

“If you weren’t, you would have already said so before making all these little objections.”

Damn it. “Have you… do they know–”

“I’ll tell them,” Ren interrupts. “It’s fine. Yusuke will be grateful, seriously.”

“Well, then, all right, I suppose,” Goro says. His voice sounds way too forced-casual to seem natural, but Ren only says “Great,” and changes the subject at exactly the right time. They really are learning how to talk to each other.

They spend a while talking about Goro’s job and Ren’s classes and Ren’s opinion of the video Goro linked him three days ago and Goro’s recent purchase of a slow cooker, and Goro doesn’t notice his coffee’s gotten cold until he looks out the window and sees with surprise that daylight is fading. 

“Auughhghh,” Ren says, or something sounding like it, and stretches, blinking his catlike eyes twice. 

“It’s getting dark,” Goro says. 

“Yeah.” Ren rolls his shoulders in an exaggerated motion and smiles at Goro. “Guess we should wrap this up.”

"I suppose so." Goro looks down into the swirling clouds in his cup. 

On their way out the door, Ren suddenly pauses and Goro almost runs into him.

" _Excuse_ me." Goro shoves him a little. 

Ren shoves back, not hard but rather vindictively, and moves out of the way. "Sorry. I was looking at that."

He gestures towards a TV in the window of a nearby shop. There's a woman speaking to a host of some program. The banner underneath reads LOTUS FOUNDATION REPRESENTATIVE WEIGHS IN. 

"That organization," Ren says. "One of their reps was trying to contact Yoshida pretty recently. I talked to them a little."

Goro's heard of the Lotus Foundation, too. It's a fairly new non-governmental organization that's made headlines recently for its outreach; it was recently instrumental in giving assistance to families and children afflicted with health risks from a chemical spill related to plastics manufacturing. 

“I've been getting emails from the company that sponsors their work," Goro says. It's because of the work he's done with Sae; he's on some kind of list now. Paranoia compelled him to plead with Futaba to ascertain that that was the case. Unexpected communications get him jumpy; you never know who could be watching. The emails have been coming to his inbox for months now, addressing him by name but nonetheless seeming like form-letter promotional outreach, imploring him to apply for internships or bragging about the work the company's done. Lotus' philanthropic efforts have also been mentioned. 

“The Lodestar Corporation? **"** Ren wrinkles his nose. "Yeah. I was telling Yoshida about that. I guess they need money from somewhere.”

“But it’s ridiculous that they have to take so much of Lodestar’s,” Goro says. **“** After all, that corporation was the one that caused that chemical disaster. Lotus was cleaning up Lodestar’s mess." He shakes his head. "Lotus even moved their offices to be in the Lodestar building. It might be an NGO, but that kind of act puts them completely under a corporation's thumb. It's all just barely legal.” 

“Yeah, I’m with you. That’s basically why Yoshida didn’t end up wanting to cooperate with them.” 

Making idle talk, they get to the station quickly. Once inside, Ren cranes his neck to take a look at the screens. "My train's in two minutes."

Goro takes the opportunity to watch Ren for a moment, to watch him blink his eyes and stifle a yawn and look quietly content, as if a moment of focused observation will… Goro doesn't know. Reveal something. Change something. Make something happen. 

He doesn't want two minutes to pass, doesn’t want to leave Ren’s company just yet. It's an odd feeling when he remembers that whole year after they first met, where he'd have to carefully calculate how long to stay and how little to feel, because back then, thinking about Ren as anything other than a walking target… hurt.

“Goro?”

Ren's voice jolts him out of his reverie. Ren grins at him. “Lost in thought?” 

“Somewhat so, I'm afraid.” Goro reaches up to play absently with the ends of his hair.  

“Well, don’t think too hard." Ren's train pulls into the station with a noisy lurch. He glances at the opening doors and then back at Goro with a final smile. "I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Right,” Goro says, and with a wave, Ren's gone.

It only occurs to Goro when he gets home himself that he didn't ask Ren where to go the next day. As he's rummaging through his fridge for sustenance, Goro sends him a message with just that query. The reply comes quickly. 

> [22:04] **Ren** : does the park at 11 work?   
>  [22:05] **Goro** : Yes.  
>  [22:09] **Ren** : ok Ryuji is the closest to you   
>  [22:09] **Ren** : so meet up w him there  
>  [22:10] **Goro** : Are you serious.  
>  [22:11] **Ren** : yea I’ll pick you guys up  
>  [22:11] **Goro** : Pick us up???  
>  [22:12] **Ren** : it’ll be fine see you then ^__^ 

Goro gnashes his teeth in pointless irritation before giving up on the fridge search and going to bed.

He almost doesn't wake up the next morning; his hearing ear was pressed to his pillow and he didn't hear his alarm go off. Even with a little less time, he showers and eats a standing-up-by-the-counter bowl of cereal before he heads out to the park by his apartment. 

He elects to take the train instead of his bike– he's not sure what Ren meant or whether he'll be able to keep it anywhere. Approaching the entrance to the park, he sees Sakamoto almost immediately, leaning against the gate next to the street. It's hard to miss the slouch and that shock of dyed hair. 

When Sakamoto sees him, he straightens and looks a little wary. Goro approaches and they exchange halfhearted greetings.

Then Sakamoto ventures to ask, "How's, uh… how are you?"

"Quite well," Goro says, and smiles. He's already decided that he doesn't actually want to just sit here in tense silence before Ren arrives, but he has no real desire to engage in enthusiastic conversation, so he figures he'll coax Sakamoto into doing all the talking instead. "And as for yourself? Still in school? What are you studying? Are you enjoying it? Any hobbies?"

Sakamoto looks a little stupefied by the barrage of questions. Oh well. "Uh… I'm good. Yeah, I'm in school." The last time they met Sakamoto mentioned that he took a gap year to _work and stuff_ ; you didn't need to be a former detective to deduce from the mumbling and shifty eyes that he hadn't passed his entrance exams. It seems like he succeeded on the second go. "Major’s education."

"Really?" Goro can't disguise the incredulity in his voice.

"Yeah." Sakamoto crosses his arms and gives Goro a look like he's daring him to comment. 

Well, a teacher of Sakamoto's caliber would be perfectly suited to a place in this country's train-wreck of a school system, Goro thinks, and then immediately feels slightly guilty. Sakamoto has more of a right to claim that post than _he_ does, at least; he's no killer. "How nice," Goro says politely. 

"You say that, but I bet it's not what you're thinking," Sakamoto grumbles. 

He can deal with it. 

"Anyway, did Ren tell you when he was gonna be getting here?" Sakamoto says. 

"No. Only that he would pick us up." Goro pauses. He's loath to ask Sakamoto for information, but curiosity is gnawing at him. "Do you happen to know what he meant by that?"

"No idea. He said the same thing to me."

Goro frowns. 

An awkward silence descends. Sakamoto shuffles. They hear children's shouts from somewhere. A steady parade of cars passes by on the street. 

Damn it, now Goro's uncomfortable. And he’s beginning to feel sticky. He’s sure that engaging in physical labor when the weather is like this will be just great. He coughs. "It's nice of you to help Kitagawa. I imagine this will take some effort. Did you need any convincing?"

"What?" Sakamoto frowns. "He's my friend, dude. Why wouldn't I want to help out a friend?"

Briefly, Goro sees red. Fucking Phantom Thieves and their stupid, smug, superior attitudes and their one-dimensional obsession with the sacrament of _friendship–_

"Nah, I'm just kidding," Sakamoto says cheerfully. "He said he'd treat me at the beef bowl place." Upon seeing the glare Goro's directing at him, he adds, "Hey, lighten up, man."

God, he hates Sakamoto. 

"What'd Ren promise you?"

Goro glares again, but Sakamoto doesn't happen to harbor any ill will, so he cautiously replies "Nothing."

"Oh, yeah, I get it," Sakamoto says knowingly. "He did that thing, huh? The shadow-negotiation thing where he gets all convincing. And the freaky eyes. Pretty hard to resist."

 _No,_ Goro thinks, _he didn't._ Unless "freaky eyes" accounts for Ren batting his eyelashes, and Goro is fairly certain Ryuji didn't mean that. _I'm just pathetic._ "Right," he says, and smiles. "I couldn't possibly say no."

Then, silence again, though less tense this time. Goro shuffles and eventually pulls out his phone.

There's another notification for a Lodestar Corporation email. He skims it, deletes it, and then kills some time scrolling aimlessly until a movement at the corner of his eye makes him turn, and he catches Sakamoto first squinting at the side of Goro’s head and then trying to inconspicuously look away. 

What he's looking for is no mystery. “It’s on my left side,” Goro says flatly, turning and pointing to his left ear. 

Sakamoto turns back sheepishly, his eyes falling on Goro’s ear. “Oh. It’s, uh, not super visible.” 

“I know.”

Sakamoto fidgets. Goro tolerates it for a moment before saying “You can ask, you know.”

“Uh, I can?”

Goro affixes a smile to his face. “Sure. I’m in a better mood than I could be.” 

Sakamoto regards him uncertainly. “Er, okay. How does it work? Like, how good is your hearing?” 

Goro raises an eyebrow. "My hearing aid transmits sound to my deaf ear. It's not easy for me to tell where sounds are coming from, especially in louder places. And it's still easier for me to make out sounds and speech when they're coming from my right."

"Oh. Okay, I'll remember that." Sakamoto hesitates. "Hey, I… I know how hard this kinda thing is. It’s not exactly the same, but, uh…” Sakamoto leans down and and taps his right thigh. 

"Ah," Goro says, remembering. "Your leg."

"Yeah." Sakamoto smiles ruefully. He scratches his head. "It makes me feel… old, sometimes. Behind everybody else." He clears his throat. "But, you know, I'm used to it now."

"You still run," Goro says.

"I mean, yeah.” Sakamoto shrugs. “I mean, I can still do it. It’ll just… it’ll never be the same.” 

“What do you say?”

“Huh?”

“When people ask how it happened,” Goro replies. “What do you say?”

Sakamoto scratches the back of his head. “Depends, man. Sometimes I tell the truth. Sometimes I just… well, you know.”

And, actually, Goro does. 

After another few moments, Sakamoto’s patience eventually runs out and he tries calling Ren. 

“Ugh, he's not picking up," Sakamoto bemoans after a moment, and suddenly snatches Goro’s own phone out of his hands.

 _“E_ _xcuse me,_ ” Goro snaps, attempting to grab it back.

Sakamoto pulls the phone away before he can and starts using it. “I just want to try him from yours, he always picks up when you call him.”

“What?” Goro says. 

Sakamoto takes no notice, having managed to ring up Ren. “Come on,” he mutters. “Oh! Hey," he says into the phone. "Yeah, no, it’s me. No, I’m with him.”

Goro tries to lean closer to see if he can make out what Ren’s saying on the other end of the line, but Sakamoto pulls away and annoyingly holds up a finger. “Okay, cool. See ya.” 

He hangs up and hands Goro’s phone back to him. “Here you go,” he says cheerfully.

“My sincerest thanks,” Goro says through gritted teeth, stuffing it into his pocket. 

“He says he’s almost here. I’m kinda excited to see what he has planned, honestly!”

“You’re under the impression that he has something _planned_?”

Sakamoto shrugs. “It’s Ren. Dude’s full of surprises.” 

They find out exactly what the surprise is a moment later, when a car pulls over to the side of the street and stops right in front of them.

No, that isn't just any car.

That is a fucking Porsche.

The window rolls down.  

"Holy shit," says Sakamoto.

“Hey, kids,” Ren says. "Get in."

* * *

“Dude,” Sakamoto says. “ _This car_.” 

“I know,” Ren says, sounding giddy. “I _know._ ” 

“This traffic,” Goro notes. No one replies. Sakamoto called shotgun almost immediately, so Goro's sitting in the backseat by himself. 

Well, he's not really by himself. There's Morgana, who is inside one of the empty boxes Ren brought along, next to Goro, with his small head poking out of the cardboard enclosure. 

"How long until we're there?" asks the cat in question.

" _Ten minutes to destination,"_ says the GPS on Ren’s phone.

"Are we really gonna be able to fit all of Yusuke's stuff in here?" Sakamoto asks. 

"Well, we can make trips," Ren says.

"How many trips?" Morgana demands.

"Look, can we just go back to appreciating how cool I look driving this car?"

The chatter just keeps coming. Goro feels a headache coming on, and moodily thinks that there's a gulf widening between the front of the car and the back. It seems wrong that Goro's only really been able to stare at the back of Ren's head so far, today. 

It's been a while since they spent time together and he didn't have Ren's full attention. He has a sudden wish to be alone with Ren, he at the wheel and Goro in the passenger seat. The destination wouldn't matter, nor would the path they'd take; Goro would be satisfied with simply going in aimless circles. 

He has the vague sense that his thoughts are headed towards somewhat dangerous and confusing territory, so he redirects his attention to Ren and Sakamoto’s conversation. 

“I still can’t believe Sojiro’s car looks like this. Or that he even let you drive it,” Sakamoto is saying when Goro tunes back in.

“Neither can I," Ren replies. "He says if I even get a scratch on it he's leaving me out of his will."

“When did you learn to drive, anyway?” Goro asks, leaning forward.

“After I got back home."

"I thought you already knew how," Sakamoto says, sounding confused. “You drove us around in Mementos all the time.”

“Ren didn’t actually know how to drive,” Morgana speaks up. “He was just making his best guess, really.” 

“What?! You couldn’t drive?!” Sakamoto’s voice increases in volume. 

Goro closes his eyes. This is going to be a long ride.

“Well, not exactly,” Ren says flippantly. “But come on, Metaverse driving wasn’t like real driving. It’s not as if there were lanes. Or roads. Or other cars.” 

“Still, though! Our lives were in your hands.” 

"Are you forgetting all the, like, terrible murderous Shadows?"

Morgana seems affronted. "Ryuji, I wouldn't have let you guys die!"

"You didn’t have control," Sakamoto groans. 

Morgana’s feline features approximate a frown. "I would have figured something out."

“Anyway,” Ren says, “I got my license while I was finishing up my third year of high school.” 

“Hey, Akechi,” Sakamoto says suddenly, turning around in his seat to address Goro. There’s a mischievous look in his eyes.

“...Yes?” Goro asks, suspicious. 

He grins. “You know Ren can’t ride a bike?” 

“ _Hey,_ ” says Ren. 

“Wait,” Goro says. “Really?”

“I went so long without Goro finding out,” Ren says miserably. 

Goro laughs. “Honestly, Ren? It’s hardly difficult. Even children can–”

“And this is why,” Ren groans. “You know what you are, Goro? A vehicular elitist.”

“I wasn’t aware that such a thing existed.”

“Well, it does, and you are one.”

Ren gripes some more, and Sakamoto laughs, and Morgana meows, and Goro manages to begin to find it all tolerable when they suddenly hear a harsh noise and, simultaneously, the car jolts violently.

Ren spins the wheel wildly to the right and manages to keep driving, but there's a round of overlapping exclamations from around the car, including Sakamoto's “Holy mother of fuck" and a terrified yowl from Morgana, who almost falls out of the box before Goro reaches over and grabs him. Before he can suppress the impulse, Goro shouts an expletive himself. They really are an uncouth group. 

"What _happened_?” Morgana yowls, jumping from Goro’s arms into his lap. 

"I think I, uh, hit the curb a little bit," Ren says, voice sounding small and defeated. "Everyone okay?"

They all affirm their perfect health.

Goro leans forward, trying to avoid being pierced by cat claws. “Ren, are you–”

“Fine! Totally fine,” Ren says, voice pitched high. He takes a breath. “Ah. Let’s just… keep going.”

The short rest of the way to the destination in spent in relative silence. “Here we are,” Ren mutters when they arrive, but after he parks and they all pile out of the vehicle, everyone's attention is solely focused on examining its condition.

There's a tense moment during which they all give it a thorough once-over.

"It’s… fine,” Ren finally says, sounding amazed.

He's right. The car doesn't have a single scratch on it.

“You and your luck,” says Goro, shaking his head and crossing his arms. It’s admirable, really. Not that Goro would ever say so. 

“Mona, don’t tattle on me,” Ren murmurs, looking down at the cat he’s scooped up in his arms.

“I wasn’t gonna!” Morgana gives an offended meow. 

“Anyway.” Ren coughs. "I may have neglected to mention that it's been, ah, a while since I've driven."

"Dude," Sakamoto remarks. "I literally saw your life flash before my eyes."

"You mean _your_ life?" Ren says uncertainly.

"No," Sakamoto says with conviction. "I was thinking about Sojiro. _Yours_."

* * *

Apparently Kitagawa has been living in one of the residence halls operated by the university he attends. It’s a few miles away from campus, and populated mostly by undergraduates who come from overseas. Goro learns all this from Ren and Sakamoto’s conversation as they walk up the stairs in the building. 

Fortunately for their current endeavor, Kitagawa only lives one flight up, on the second floor. Ren pets Morgana like a witch handling a familiar, expression thoughtful, as they approach his door.

Sakamoto knocks, once, then twice. After a moment, a deep voice calls, “Come in!”

Sakamoto tries the handle, and, finding it unlocked, pushes the door open. The four of them enter and are immediately greeted by a chaotic sight. Half of the apartment is occupied by boxes stacked against the walls and already taped-up, while the other half is a mess of objects and furniture yet unpacked. Goro can hardly see the floor. Kitagawa appears to have shoved all of his possessions out of the bedroom and the other rooms and into the small living space. 

Goro turns and glances at Ren. “I imagine,” he says pointedly, “that this will take some time.” 

Ren reaches over to give Goro's shoulder a squeeze. "I'll make it up to you."

The deliberate touch, combined with the words Ren says in an undertone, immediately threaten to derail Goro's thoughts. He looks away and asks, “Where is Kitagawa?” 

"Here I am,” they hear, but there’s still no sign of the owner of the mess. Sakamoto opens his mouth, but before he can say anything Kitagawa steps out from behind a pile of… things. 

Goro notices at once that his looks have changed, subtly. He’s less gaunt; his face is filled out and the cut of his cheekbones doesn’t speak to a weary hollowness as much as it does to a more refined handsomeness. And, yes, he is handsome. It’s not as if Goro can’t look. 

“Thank you all for offering your help. Ryuji, Ren. Akechi,” Kitagawa says, and his eyes stall on Goro for a moment before he turns them to the cat. “Mona. I have tuna in a bowl in the kitchen.”

“Score!” Morgana leaps out of Ren’s arms and darts off to the kitchenette area that Goro can just barely see in the corner. 

"Alright," Sakamoto says, stretching, "let's get this over with."

"Right, right," Ren agrees. "Hey, Yusuke, if I could hit up your fridge–”   

"Ryuji has already instructed me not to give you any soda until you begin making progress towards the completion of our task," says Kitagawa, "and I am inclined to agree with his decision."

Ren gives Sakamoto a crestfallen look. "Hey!"

"It's for the best," Sakamoto says firmly. "Now help me take these boxes downstairs."

Ren obliges, and he and Sakamoto pick up a box each and amble out of the apartment for the first of many trips. Goro watches them go and realizes too late that this means he’s now alone with Kitagawa. 

So he surveys the room to avoid looking in Kitagawa’s direction. Eventually Goro catches sight of a tall sculpture and gestures at it. "That looks like a very interesting… horse." 

"It is a Dala horse, a traditional sculpture from Sweden. I received it as a gift from a friend who traveled there. It is much larger than any I have come across since. I am very fond of it."

What the hell. "Right."

"So, Akechi," Kitagawa says. “Since last we spoke, it has been nearly three years. You look well."

Goro plasters a smile onto his face. “Thank you. And… how have you been faring?”

Kitagawa cocks his head and appears to actually consider his answer. Goro fidgets uncomfortably while he waits. 

“I have been well,” Kitagawa says finally. "I have little to complain of."

"How nice." Goro pauses. “Where exactly are you moving to?” 

“Into an apartment in Asakusa. It is far closer to campus."

"That's a good area," Goro says politely. "The rent is quite high, though."

"Yes, I'm aware." Kitagawa brushes some hair out of his eyes. "I have been maintaining a steady income from the sale of my pieces for some years now, but it is only recently that I was able to afford to move. I… came into an unexpected windfall." He hesitates. "An inheritance, from my former mentor."

"An inheritance?" Kitagawa must be talking about that scam artist– ha, literally an artist– Madarame, but Goro hasn't heard anything about his death. 

"Yes. He passed away in prison a few months ago." Kitagawa's voice is calm.

"I see." Goro doesn't feel the need to offer condolences, at first– the guy was a piece of shit– but upon looking more closely at Kitagawa, he sees a certain guarded sorrow in his expression. So he adds, "I'm sorry."

"Thank you." Kitagawa looks back at him and seems sincere. 

The conversation stalls. Goro lets his eyes wander again, and notices a box full of books. He goes over to it. “You have quite a collection,” he mentions to Kitagawa as he peers inside.

“Feel free to look through it,” Kitagawa replies. 

“If you’re not inclined to keep all of these, the store I work in is always open to donations.” Hirakawa likes to display the donated books so no one will buy the ones she actually wants to keep. Goro reaches inside the box and pulls out a book at random. He glances at the cover. 

Kitagawa walks over and stands next to him. “Ah, the _Daodejing_. Have you ever had chance to read it, Akechi?” 

“Of course,” Goro replies. He’d spent an afternoon or two going through the pages of a modern edition of the ancient text when he was thirteen– or was it fourteen? At that time, though, it struck him as the sort of arcane Taoist mysticism it was pointless to try and make heads or tails out of, and he never bothered to revisit it. 

“There’s one verse in it that I think of often." Kitagawa lets his eyes flutter closed and begins to recite. "Respect the world as your self: the world can be your lodging. Love the world as your self: the world can be your trust." He opens his eyes again and looks at Goro. 

"Ah," Goro says. Kitagawa seems like he wants Goro to ask what it means, and Goro's tempted to resist out of spite, but, well, whatever. "And what does it mean?"

Kitagawa shrugs. "I don't know."

"...You don't know," Goro says. "Then what does it mean to _you_?"

Kitagawa smiles slightly, like Goro's finally started asking the right questions. "Different things, at different parts of my life. And this part of the text has myriad potential interpretations. But in times of transition, such as these, I remember that I am not lost at sea, no matter how adrift I may feel. I believe the verse speaks to the importance of faith. First comes respect for the self, the grounding element. And when self-acceptance is achieved, having faith in the order of the world naturally follows." He shrugs and squints at the state of the room. "So I tell myself when facing seemingly-insurmountable tasks."

It's hard to take offense, even for Goro, when Kitagawa is philosophizing at him. Probably it's because he simply says exactly what he means, despite all the formality– reaching the point he wishes to make without circumventing and without pretense. It makes him, in Goro's opinion, very irritating, and a little intimidating, but all in all, Goro is envious. Would that he himself could simply have been able to make it through his life with the same kind of carefree straightforwardness. 

Kitagawa, though, has an artist's heart, quick to forgive all who offend, and to forgo the bitter food of the masses– vengeance, and materialism (though you wouldn't know it from this apartment) and, well, God knows how many other earthly sins. Taoist verses are easy for him to recite. To _love the world as himself…_ the words are as foreign to Goro as a greeting card's manufactured platitudes. He has no great love for either himself or the miserable world he inhabits.

Despite it all, the words seem to burn at the forefront of his consciousness with all the desperation of a hopeless wish. 

Longing and frustration overcome him– simultaneous, sudden, violent. He _wants_ to understand. He wants to feel it. But how can he?

Before he can think any further, there's a sudden crashing sound and a muffled swear from the direction of the stairs. 

"I told you not to take both of them at once!" they hear Ren's agitated voice say.

"Are you kidding? You dared me to!" The thundering reply is unmistakably from Sakamoto.

Another murmured expletive from Ren, and then his voice rises. "Hey, Yusuke, no worries, your stuff's fine..."

"Wait, I–" There's a thudding noise and then a yelp. Sakamoto bellows in apparent pain.

Goro can hear Ren choke out, "Mayday! Mayday!"

“I suppose we should go help,” Kitagawa says finally.

Goro shrugs. “If we must.” 

* * *

When he returns home at the end of the day, muscles aching and eyelids heavy, all Goro can think as he stands in the center of his silent apartment is that there’s _too much noise._

The silence in his apartment is all-consuming, overwhelming, but there's a punishing paradoxical phenomenon in place; the lack of sound makes the voices in his head all the louder. 

Things that fill the void: The rumble of the subway and the sound of the city. Hirakawa's page-turning. Ren's voice. Kitagawa and Sakamoto's bickering– today? Right. That was today. There was so much movement confined within those walls, voices calling and fading and murmuring and meowing. The sounds he does hear are blurry, mechanical, just wrong enough so that it's hard to forget part of him is damaged, but when it's loud enough it doesn't matter. When it's loud Goro can hiss through his teeth and complain about migraines and overly-hyperactive company, but he can hear the ebb and flow of the sound and it feels like things are– 

Normal. Normal is the anxiety and the thoughts he can't run from. When it's louder he can even pretend they're not there. But in the silence he feels the scorn of the person he really is, scorn for himself and all who surround him, and the voices ask with incredulity if he really thinks he's changed.

They are what is waiting for him when he gets home. When he locks the door behind him with numb fingers. When the sounds of neighbors' chatter and laughter filter through the cheap, shoddy walls. 

Goro stands in the dark and feels small. The only light comes through from a gap in the curtains he bought, bright red ones, something to enliven the place. _I don't have to be alone,_ he thinks.

He could open the door.

He could open the door. 

He doesn't, not tonight. 

* * *

It's going to be a long summer. The days aren't getting any shorter, and the humidity makes Goro feel as if he's constantly wading through warm soup. It's the kind of weather he might prefer to bike in, if only to conjure up a breeze, but in his journey on this muggy late-August day he takes the train. At least the cars are air-conditioned. And lately in the city he's had the strange feeling that he’s being watched. It's probably just leftover paranoia, but regardless, he feels better immersed in the crowd that's filling onto the crowded subway. 

He arrives at the Kato home in no time at all, but Goro isn't very enthused by what he has to do. Mr. Kato called him that morning and made a request– Kagami's babysitter had an emergency and there was no time to find another, so the duty's fallen on Goro's shoulders. 

And that is _not_ his job, but how could Goro say no? Mr. Kato relies on him– he places his trust in him. He thinks Goro is an upstanding citizen. Still, Goro feels painfully awkward as he lets himself in with the key Mr. Kato hid under the doormat. He hates being inside unfamiliar homes– hates being privy to the strange, fragile domesticity that governs the way other people live their lives. He feels like an intruder trying to know something he’s incapable of ever understanding. 

But it’s not conducive to what he has to do to think this way, and he has extensive practice with compartmentalizing, so he puts an emotional stopper on his internal whining as he walks through the door. 

“Kagami?” he calls.

She appears all at once in the entryway, blinking at him. Her hair has been growing back lately– now  it’s almost past her ears– so she’s foregone the fuzzy hat. Trips to the hospital are no longer as frequent. She was already in remission from her illness when Goro met her, and most of her treatment now consists only of taking pills.

Once he dreamed of her dying– he dreams often of people dying– and woke up gasping, with the sharp shock of relief feeling like a bullet to his heart, the intensity of it surprising him. But she’s finally okay. Sometimes people just get better. 

Kagami zooms forward and hovers around his legs as he walks over to the table to set down his things. "There's takoyaki in the freezer.”

"Ah. Are you hungry?"

"No, but Daddy said we can make it for lunch." 

She clearly wants him to be impressed by this, so Goro smiles at her. "I can't wait."

Kagami beams back, satisfied. "C'mon," she says, tugging at him, and then she takes him on a tour of the house. 

First up is her room– her small, cluttered room, bursting with natural light coming through the open drapes and featuring walls tacked up with posters. She actually has one of those canopy things hanging over her bed, just like the one Goro wanted so badly as a kid. Leave it to him to be jealous of an eight year-old (almost nine, as she’s so intent on reminding him). 

Kagami shows him some of her toys. A few are very elaborate, like the doll in a leotard hanging on a bar that does a flip when she cranks the lever attached to it.

"I didn't even know they made dolls like this," Goro says. 

"Someone gave it to me." Kagami looks thoughtfully at the dolls piled on the floor. "All of these ones, people gave me because I was sick. I don't like dolls that much, though." She turns the lever over and over and over, and the doll cycles helplessly through the air.

She has much more energy when she brings him to her posters. There are more than a dozen carefully tacked-up, each portraying some glamorous-looking men or women.

"This group is my favorite," Kagami declares, pointing to a poster in the middle of the wall. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m not _lying._ ”

“How come?” he asks her, and as she tells him, he’s aware, suddenly, of a strange feeling.

He’s not just sitting here for money, because he isn’t getting paid. It’s not that he’s just desperate for Kagami to like him, so he can collect on it later. He’s not even feigning polite interest. He could walk out at any time, without consequences, but he doesn’t want to, because Kagami is now telling him all about her favorite singer in this group with a trendily-misspelled name and it seems very important for him to stay and listen. Looking around this room is telling him more about a person he's grown to care for, and it's not an unpleasant feeling. 

It’s a _weird_ feeling, though. 

“And do you have their albums?"

“Duh! Well, not the newest one. But that one just came out, so I'm gonna get it soon!”

After that she leads him around some more. There’s one door that remains tightly closed. Goro glances at it, but Kagami doesn’t spare it a second glance. 

“Here’s Daddy’s room,” Kagami announces breezily, after they pass the shut door. She pushes past him into it and immediately enters the walk-in closet, presumably looking for something.  

“Ah, very nice.” Goro doesn’t feel that it’s his place to enter the room at all, so he hovers in the doorway instead. 

There’s something a little depressing about a single father’s bedroom. It’s disorganized in a way that indicates the person who lives here doesn’t really know _how_ to organize it. There are photos on his nightstand, though– small ones that Goro can’t see very well from here, and a larger frame. That one shows a picture of Mr. Kato, a woman who Goro doesn’t recognize holding a baby, and an older child, a boy, standing next to them. There’s another photo next to it, too, that shows the same boy staring petulantly at the camera. 

"Is that your brother?" Goro asks. Kagami has emerged from the closet. 

She follows his line of sight, and frowns deeply at the picture of the boy. “Whatever!” she says. “Let’s watch TV.”

She leaves, then, but before Goro follows, he walks over to look at the picture. Something strikes him immediately– the boy’s eyes. They’re the same color as his. 

And it’s not a very common color. That first day he met her, at the hospital, Kagami looked at his face before making that remark– _just like my brother_. Goro had assumed the other boy had a hearing disability, too. But that probably wasn’t the case, after all. Anticlimactic. 

Goro turns on the television for Kagami in the living room. Then he allows her one twenty-minute episode of a cartoon before he gets up and switches it off.

"Hey!" Kagami bellows. God, she can be loud.

“If I’m on babysitting duty, you’re going to have to learn something too.”

“No fair!”

“It is, too, fair," Goro counters, even though it probably isn’t. It's just that he doesn't want to lose time with his project. 

The thing is, he has begun to take something of a personal investment in Kagami’s learning. It's because nothing seems to grab her attention. She likes drawing– some of her doodles of him wearing strange hats or sporting exaggerated mustaches are admittedly very good– and she has an active imagination, but her interest in academics is minimal. He can’t let it rest– part of him is taking it as a challenge for him to find something that she’ll want to learn more about. But she’s unimpressed by how perfectly mathematical formulas are reflected in nature and a period of history that doesn’t bore her seems not to exist. Goro hasn’t lost hope, though. There has to be _something._

He’s probably put more energy towards it than he should. He isn’t really sure Kagami even needs him anymore. He could send Mr. Kato a text one day, expressing apologies and stating a need to quit, and then he could block his number, and he’d never have to see either of them again.

But even considering the notion is somehow offensive to his sensibilities. Never see Kagami again? He often finds himself wondering who she’ll become when she grows up– how the ways he interacts with her could affect that future person in little ways. It’s presumptuous of him, but he thinks he might be able to help her, in some way. He’s made the most mistakes of anybody he knows. She could learn from them. 

And helping Kagami keeps the noise out. The internal noise. He feels like less shitty of a person when he’s with her, he supposes. It may be a lie, but it’s a lie that isn’t hurting anybody. 

Kagami loves to talk, and hearing her definitely helps with that, when it isn’t overly irritating. Today, sitting at the kitchen table, she folds her arms and frowns as he takes out some notes he prepared. "I wanna learn about dinosaurs."

And yet she balks when he tries to tell her about early eras of prehistory. "I'm not even sure why they spend time teaching you about dinosaurs in school. There hardly seems to be a point."

"There's a _point,_ " Kagami insists. "They were big and scary and they're all gone now because they weren't nice."

"Because they weren't nice?" Goro raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, they always ate all the other animals' food so God got mad and made a meteor and they died. That's what's gonna happen to us if we eat food that isn't ours." She adds proudly, "That's what I said to Keiko at school when she took my Oreo without asking."

"Hm." Well, maybe Goro can work with this. "Well, many of the bloodiest, most destructive conflicts in history have begun from conflicts over territory. Huge empires in the past would battle over claims to land."

"Bloody?" says Kagami, looking up. 

"And you know, sometimes there were powerful creatures involved, which people learned to use for their benefit." If only there were any wars that were fought with dinosaurs. 

"Like horses and cows and whatever?" she says skeptically. 

"Not always. Actually, when Carthage and Rome fought, there were elephants." 

"Elephants? How come?"

"Well, there was a military general named Hannibal, who everyone was very scared of." Then Goro is explaining the Punic Wars to an eight– sorry, almost nine– year-old kid. And if he embellishes a little, well… who can blame him?

"Well, did Hannibal win or not?" Kagami demands when he finishes. 

"I'll tell you next time." He'll come prepared with images of battle formations and other necessary notes. He’ll make it entertaining, though. He refuses to lose this chance. 

Then they put the takoyaki in the oven and Kagami wants to draw while they wait for it to cook. As she does, scribbling diligently at the kitchen table, he gives her prompts he takes from myths and cartoons and memories. "Draw a dragon guarding a cave," he tells her. "Draw a pirate with a broken arm. Draw a sleeping prince."

“Are they ready yet?” Kagami asks after a little while of that. 

Goro goes over and peers inside the oven. “A few more minutes," he tells her. 

Kagami sighs theatrically. “Hey,” she says.

“Hm?” Goro turns to her.

"Can we all go…” She scrunches up her face, as if trying to remember a word. “Extinct. If the dinosaurs all died because of the meteor, can that happen too? To people.” 

Goro blinks a few times in succession before replying. "Well, the likelihood of another meteoric event of that scale is extremely low."

“Really?" Kagami squints at him. "Are you _sure_? Do you _know_?” 

“It’s _highly_ unlikely.” 

"But people take a lot of other people’s stuff. And it could make God mad again and there could be a meteor. Then what do we do?”

The God that Kagami conceives of is quite the vengeful asshole. Goro has never been more grateful to be an atheist. Seeing a friend shoot one deity in the head and summon others from the inside of his mind will do that to you. “Well, there’s not much we can do, I suppose. There are no real rules for what will happen to the world if–” Goro stops suddenly.  

“What?” Kagami demands.

Goro turns to look at her. “Let me tell you another story.”

“Okay…”  

"Once there was a very smart man," said Goro, "named Immanuel Kant. He was a philosopher. A philosopher is someone who thinks deeply about how people think.” 

“I know that!” Kagami considers for a moment. "Did his dad make him do that?"

“I– what?”

“Did his dad make him be a philosopher? It seems boring.” 

"His d– no. No, it was his life's work and his passion. Regardless, one day he thought of an idea. He called it the _categorical imperative._ ”

“Um, I _don’t_ know what that means.” 

“Well, I’ll explain it to you. In essence, it's a rule for how things should work, in an ideal world– that is, a world where things are the very best that they can be."

"Well, that's not _our_ world," Kagami says. "So what's the point?"

"Thinking about an ideal world can give us the tools we need to make our world better," Goro tells her. "Anyway, Kant's rule was a guideline for how to act. In simple terms, he said that every action you take should be judged in terms of how the world would be if other people acted the same way. And that rule assumes that morality is universal."

"Uhhh," says Kagami. 

"I'll give you an example," Goro says quickly. "Suppose I borrow 500 yen from you."

"Why can't I borrow it from you?"

"Okay, fine. Suppose you borrow 500 yen from me. But you decide you didn't want to pay it back, so you never do so. According to Kant's rule, this wouldn't just be a bad thing to do. It also wouldn't make sense, because it wouldn't be advantageous for you."

"Why? I would get to keep the 500 yen."

"Because according to Kant, if you keep the money, you're endorsing the idea that everyone else should act the same way. Kant thought that you should act as if you have the power to set universal laws in place, that would apply to everybody, and those laws would be determined by what you did. You wouldn't want everybody to refrain from paying back their loans, would you? In a world where that rule was applicable to all, if _you_ lent somebody else money, they'd never have to pay it back."

Kagami appears to consider this for a long moment. Then her eyes light up suddenly. “My teacher has that on a poster.”

“Kant’s categorical imperative is on a poster in your classroom?” Goro asks, confused. 

“No, but it says _treat others how you want to be treated._ So same thing.”

“Well, it’s not exactly the same.” 

“It sounds the same.” Kagami shrugs.

“No, there are ethical implications that–” Goro decides to just let it go. “Well, regardless, Kant's rule may apply to an ideal standard, but it makes sense, don't you think? So maybe there won't be a big meteor that will kill us all, but if we all act selfish and cruel, the world won't be a very good place for anyone. Then, who knows what will happen? Maybe the very foundations of our existence would fall apart and we'd all die anyway." Goro clears his throat. "According to Kant. Anyway, that's how taking other people's stuff, as you put it, could change the world for the worst."

“But not everybody is gonna do all of that thinking about bad stuff that could happen,” Kagami complains. "People just do whatever they want."

"And that's why…" Goro hesitates, trying to choose his words carefully. "That's why it's important for us to do good, to make up for the bad that other people might be doing. Even adults can't control everything– we can only try and make sure that we use the power we have to make life better. Instead of… instead of only using it for our own benefit, without caring who we hurt along the way." He swallows.

Kagami's looking at him curiously, so he hurries to continue. "It's within our ability to do good things, so we should do as many of them as we can." He sighs. "Whatever _good_ may entail."

Kagami keeps looking at him, her eyes solemn. Goro worries for a moment that he's been too serious, that she won't know what he's been trying to say. But then her brow furrows, and it seems as if she's thinking deeply about his words. 

Then the timer on the oven dings.

Kagami jumps out of her chair. "The takoyaki’s done!” She dashes to the oven. 

"Don't run, you'll slip!" Goro watches her slow down and breathes a sigh of relief. 

She'll understand when she's older. She'll have to. 

* * *

...from  _Dr. Watanabe’s Guide to Finding a New You_ , Chapter 7: “Get Out There and Change!”

When you're in a slump, it can be tempting to turn inward. When we feel especially badly, we put our own comfort above all else. But oftentimes, what can be most helpful when we feel depressed or hopeless is helping other people. 

It’s not always easy or possible to get up and go focus on others when all you want to do is close your blinds and duck under the covers. But I believe in a karmic principle– what goes around comes around! Try putting some positive energy out into the world and doing some good deeds, and watch that feeling circle back to you. 

Plus, you’ll find that doing good things for others can help you feel better about yourself. It’s much easier to have a positive self-image when you’re proving to yourself that you can make other people happy, through your own merits. Squash your self-doubt and reap karmic rewards for yourself at the same time– turn your slump into a cycle of love and goodness! 

* * *

Summer barrels onward until it begins to slowly slip away. Goro greets September with more-or-less open arms. There's some sort of learned academic instinct in him that makes him want to work harder when the summer ends. He picks up more shifts at the store and begins to spend more time at the boxing gym. It's the closest one to his apartment– still quite a trek, but he's there at least three times a week anyway. Cliché though it may be, hitting things still serves as a remarkably effective outlet for his emotions. People there have begun to recognize him since he started going at the beginning of this year, and despite his desire to exercise alone most of the time, he appreciates the nods of greeting and the occasional company. 

He also rings in the month with a visit to Leblanc's attic.

Despite how often he's been here, Goro still doesn’t like this place very much at all. It’s rife with claustrophobia and uncomfortable memories. And it's almost always hot in here. No matter the weather outside, the attic traps the heat and makes him feel tired and sticky.

Futaba, though, seems unaffected as she clicks away on her laptop. Goro can't tell if she's actually working or not.

“How?” Goro finally says.

“What?” Futaba answers after a moment. 

“How do you wear clothes like that when it feels like this?” She has a sweatshirt on, of all things. 

“Shrug,” replies Futaba. She actually says “shrug _”_ aloud. 

Goro shakes his head in muted disbelief. Futaba doesn't see, of course. She's barely paid attention to him for the hour he's been here today. Goro leans over, feigning a stretch, and squints at her screen.

Goddamnit, she's playing a computer game.. Goro sighs and returns to his former position. His own laptop is on the floor in front of him, his notebook beside it (digital for pulling up files, physical for sensitive notes), but he hasn't had much occasion to use either. 

He thinks he knows why. 

"Futaba," Goro says.

No response, as is typical for the first time he calls her name.

"Futaba," he tries again.

More silence.

Enough of this. Goro stands up, walks over in front of her, and leans down to wave a hand between her face and the screen.

Futaba makes a threatened, hissing sound and jerks away. "Kinda doing something here!"

"Pause your game," Goro says pleasantly. "We need to talk."

"You can't pause a _multiplayer online game_!"

It takes another few minutes for her to finish her match or dungeon or whatever, and then, with supreme reluctance, Futaba closes her laptop and looks up at him. "Can I help you?"

"You can," Goro says. "Because we need to discuss where this project of ours is headed– if it's indeed headed anywhere at all. And considering you've refused to share any information with me for some time now, just as you've refrained from requesting I make any more forays into the–"

"Oh my God. So many words. Stop with the words." Futaba waves her hands in the air irritably like she's trying to bat away smoke from a stovetop fire. "Okay. Okay. Fine. Sit down."

Goro does so. They face each other, him patient and cross-legged on the floor, her with her knees pulled up to her chin.

"Alright," Futaba begins, then hesitates. Her shoulders tense up. Goro waits. 

Finally, she says, "There isn't any more."

"What do you mean?" Goro asks quietly, though he thinks he has a pretty good idea.

"Well, I guess we're super great at research. So. It took a while, but we've basically collected all of Mom's work that exists. From the projects she did in college and grad school to her grant proposals to her personal research notes. Yay." Futaba looks sour, and definitely not celebratory. 

"Well," Goro says. "If there's still a need to organize our findings–"

"We've been doing all of that as we go. There literally isn't anything left." Futaba slouches, a drawn look on her face that Goro recognizes as signaling an oncoming dark mood. 

Goro has some practice with getting Futaba to open up by this point. Even though it still feels like picking a particularly complicated lock on a time limit, he's confident that he can find the best way to do it this time. He gears himself up for a first attempt, but before he can say anything Futaba suddenly speaks again.

“I don’t know what to do after this," she says.

“We… discussed this at one point, if I'm not mistaken," Goro says carefully. "We could compile her work into an archive, and then upload–”  

Futaba doesn't appear to be listening. “Do you think people will remember her?” 

"I–" 

“Because I don’t know if that should even matter to me." She laughs, and it's barely a laugh at all. "Kinda late to be thinking that, huh."

“Your mother had the best of intentions,” Goro says quietly. “Her work was stolen and misused. We've been doing this so that people remember those intentions. So that the important parts of her work aren't forgotten.” 

“You’re doing this so _you_ don’t forget her. And so am I. I'm scared to. Forget, I mean. That was all I wanted to do, actually, when I was… going through a bad time and I kept seeing her everywhere. But now I'm scared I won't remember anything about her." Futaba's voice is small. "Feels like I forget more and more every day."

For a few minutes, they don't speak. It isn't very unusual. Silences between them are common– and they're not always empty or hostile. This time, Goro is trying to think of what to say.

Finally, tentatively, he begins, "I… don't remember very much. I can't remember my mother's voice very well." He would give anything for one recording– a voicemail, a videotape. "But I… well, I reason to myself that she taught me things, that she raised me. I may not be able to know what parts of myself exist because of her and which ones were only made manifest as I learned to live without her. But they still exist, and that's a way to remember." Goro half-shrugs, a little helplessly. "The way your mother brought you up changed who you are. That's all a part of you now. So, for better or worse, you won't forget those things, even if you may wish it had all been different– that she had treated you differently."

"You," replies Futaba slowly after a moment, "are kinda a downer."

"Well…"

"But an honest downer. Thanks. I needed to hear that, I guess." Futaba sighs. “I need to stop… Thinking. Hypothesizing about the ways everything could've gone. My mind keeps screaming _what if!_ at me all the time. And I hate it.”

"I know the feeling," Goro says.

"Yeah?" Futaba doesn't look surprised. "How do you deal with it?"

“You keep busy, I suppose. You… find other things loud enough to drown out the noise.” 

“I didn't want advice, _duh!_ I was asking what _you_ do. But… yeah.” Futaba gives him a sidelong glance. “I’m pretty familiar with that method.” 

They’re quiet for another moment, and then she sighs. “I still… I don’t know. I made you help because of my complicated yet well-thought-out revenge plot–"

"I'm aware," Goro says dryly.

"–but I don't know if that was the _best_ thing to do. I thought it would make me feel better, but now it’s over. And I just feel tired. I'm not really… I guess I'm not the type of person who gets all excited about revenge or whatever. Thinking about all the energy you have to put into it just makes me want to take a nap." She glances at Goro. "No offense." 

Goro could already tell that about her. He had thought it was obvious; instead of jumping at the chance to cut his throat she'd forced him to do paperwork instead. "Well," he says, "different strokes."

"Yeah, apparently."

"Futaba," Goro says. "May I tell you something?"

"What?"

“You’re an extraordinary person," Goro says.

“Oh, God,” Futaba mutters. "Don't."

“I’m not trying to flatter you," Goro tries. "I really believe that about you, and–"

“Seriously, stop,” Futaba groans, putting her hands over her head. “Somehow it’s worse when I know you’re being for real.”

"What I _mean_ ," Goro says loudly, "is simply that you’ll find it yourself. A way forward. A way to keep her memory alive, and keep going, without the aid of… complicated yet well-thought-out revenge plots. There’s no need to tire yourself out, trying to keep watch all the time for some kind of answer or epiphany. You’ll come across it. Tenacity and brilliance are in your nature. I, uh… I tell Ren the same thing, when I can." 

"Oh, really?" Futaba says, after a moment. "Who's more _brilliant,_ me or Ren?"

"I once saw Ren trying to coax a raccoon out from behind a trash can for five minutes before he realized he was only looking at a plastic bag."

"Yeah, I already knew the answer to that." Futaba smirks.

She's not acknowledging the rest of what he said, but Goro knows she's heard him. Her normal expression is back on her face, and that's enough, for now. 

“Well," Futaba says, looking around the room, "we’re done. I mean, I still have to actually decide what I want to do with all of the stuff about Mom we found and organized. But we're done."

“We are.”

“So let’s celebrate!" Futaba declares. 

“Ah. With curry?”

“No, dummy, something special. Celebration food!” She thinks about it and then grins. “Sushi. Your treat.”

“I assumed as much.” Goro shakes his head, but the thought of sushi really is immediately uplifting.

Futaba beams and turns to scurry down the steps of the attic. “I’ll tell Sojiro we’re going out!”

Goro watches her go, and then looks around at the attic. It's still so goddamn hot in here. He tugs at his collar.

He's going to miss the afternoons he spent here. But he'll see Futaba again. He has a feeling she won’t disappear from his life. Goro doesn’t want her to.

* * *

...from  _Dr. Watanabe’s Guide to Finding a New You_ , Chapter 5: “Reach for the Stars!”

There’s nothing wrong with having a routine, but sometimes changing things up can be more beneficial than you may realize.

By trying things you wouldn’t normally do or taking new paths to get to familiar destinations, you’ll be able to experience new, exciting things AND learn more ways to solve the daily little problems you run into in your life. 

Try making goals that involve stepping out of your usual routine once or twice a week. Who knows? You might find something you wouldn’t have otherwise!

* * *

Ann's been studying abroad for the past semester in New York. Those Americans better be appreciating having her on their shores. In one of the letters he gets from her, she, sounding eerily like Dr. Watanabe, encourages him to try new things. 

“Someone told me that changes in routine help your brain!” Then there's a litany of new things Ann has tried recently. Some of them had pleasant consequences, like her decision to take the lead on a group project that ended very well. Other choices, such as an attempt to befriend a moody teaching assistant, were abject failures and ended only in being compelled to sit through readings of badly-written and vaguely misogynistic poetry. 

Goro reads it with interest, but none of it really surprises him until he gets to the end of the letter, whereupon he is presented with a revelation and the last notable change in Ann’s routine: she kissed a girl. 

They FaceTime about it, because this is one of the things that necessitates modern communication. Goro wants to know the details without having to wait for the post. 

Ann's a little sheepish when she talks about it; she keeps twirling a strand of hair around a finger. "I don't know!" she tells Goro. "I'm pretty sure that, to her, it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. I mean, we were out with a lot of people and kinda drunk. But, I mean, it didn't feel like that to _me_ …"

"Mm-hmm," Goro replies sympathetically. 

"Like," Ann continues, "I've… well, I've thought about it. A lot. But I just never thought I'd actually get the chance to do that with another girl. I thought I'd always chicken out, or…" She shrugs and smiles. "I mean, it was just a random thing for her, but for me it was important. That's okay, right? For me to think about it like that even if it didn't really mean anything? I'm just glad that it happened."

"Of course,” Goro tells her. “I’m happy for you. And now that you're emboldened, you can kiss many more girls."

"Well, hey–"

"You’ll be sweeping all those American women off their feet in no time at all.” 

" _Hey_!" Making Ann laugh always feels like a privilege he can never take for granted. 

Goro has never had an inclination to kiss girls, but he supposes a little spontaneity in his own life couldn’t hurt. He really has become a creature of habit. At least when he was a vindictive assassin with a double life, constant roadblocks and surprises kept him on his toes. Now the only regular problem he has to solve is the occasional obligation to sweet-talk his landlord into letting him pay rent a few days late. 

He can’t help but feel jealousy that Ann is out there seeing the world. He’s always wanted to travel, but he’s never had the chance– he’s spent his whole life in Tokyo and never left. The images Ann posts on her Instagram feed and the stories she relates in her video calls to him fill him with a particular sense of wanderlust. It doesn’t help that he keeps getting those damn emails from Lodestar, compelling him to join the team and bask in all the opportunities to travel. He could just block the address, but something always stops him. 

He makes an effort to try new things, no matter how small. He checks out a book from the library about a girl who wakes up one day and finds herself able to talk to plants. He tries a new route home and finds a bakery that sells some of the best melon bread he's ever had. 

On one of these outings, he thinks he senses somebody following him again. This time it feels like more than simple paranoia. He sees, hears, and believes it all at once– the shadow moving in the corner of his eye, the shuffle of quiet footsteps. His mind draws the conclusion easily, automatically, without room for emotion or bias. He whips around.

And there’s nobody there. 

He narrows his eyes as he stares into an empty alley. He doesn’t mistrust his senses– he doesn’t think he was mistaken. He spends another few minutes walking around the area. But he doesn’t know what he’s looking for, and he eventually admits to himself that there’s nothing he can do.

Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe not. It probably doesn't mean anything. Goro tries to squash his unease and move along, and for weeks afterwards he doesn't notice anything unusual, setting him a little more at ease. 

There's a routine to his new life, and it's not bad. It's busy enough to keep his mind occupied and dull enough to allow him to breathe easy. He always knows when he's working or when the mail will come. He always knows who to expect when he hears a knock at his door. Today, a November morning, that person is Ren.

Ren squints at Goro when he opens the door. “What’s wrong with your hair?”  
  
“What?” He’s put some bobby pins in it, solely for convenience. “There’s nothing _wrong_ with it. I just wanted to keep it out of my eyes.” 

“Okay, come on.” Ren is shuffling inside, and the next thing Goro knows he’s being sat down in his only chair, his back to the mirror in the bedroom. 

“This is all wrong,” says Ren. He has his hands in Goro’s hair, tugging and yanking– well, he’s not doing much of either, actually. He’s gotten a comb from somewhere, and he’s careful, and really he’s not directly touching Goro much at all, which is a little disappointing. “The flat side of the bobby pin goes up," Ren tells him. "To get a better grip. Dummy."

Wait, really? “And how was I meant to know that?”

“Everybody knows that. Well, and you know I have two sisters," Ren says cheerfully. 

“You’ve mentioned it.” An older and a younger. Of course Ren’s method of coping with middle-child syndrome was to go out and save the world.  
  
"I've always liked your hair, it’s so thick," Ren says. There's warmth unfurling in his voice, rough and spontaneous and genuine, that makes Goro want to hang on to his every word.  
  
And that’s a compliment Goro will take; anything to set him apart from his garbage father is welcome. "As is yours," he tells Ren.  
  
"But your hair actually does what you tell it to. Not that you ever tell it to do the _right thing_. Here.” Ren theatrically spins Goro’s chair around.

He looks at himself in the mirror. “I look the same.”

“No, you don’t! I made it neater and I hid your flyaways.”

“I do _not_ have flyaways.” Goro may take a little less care than he used to in maintaining his appearance now that he’s living an unremarkable proletarian life, but he knows _that_ much.

“Suuure,” Ren says indulgently, and Goro is prepared to argue, but then Ren starts rubbing some strands of Goro’s hair between his fingers and he has to put all his energy into trying to stop his face from turning red. 

They leave Goro’s apartment eventually. As they’re going down the stairs, Ren stretches, sending long limbs flying, and Goro dodges so as not to have his eye gouged out by a pointy elbow. “Where should we go?” 

“You don’t have a destination in mind?”

Ren shrugs. “Figured it would come to me. But it isn’t. So, any ideas?”

“Nowhere you can order soda,” Goro decides. 

“Hey–”

“And I don’t feel much like battling it out for a seat at a coffee shop.”

“No one’s ever at Leblanc,” Ren points out.

“Well, there’s a place a little closer than Yongen-Jaya, and probably even quieter, I’ll warrant.”

“Where?” 

Ren has never been to Broadcast before, which makes taking him there slightly intimidating. 

"You're late for your shift," Hirakawa says when they walk through the door.

"Not that late," Goro replies brightly.

"Wait, you're _working_?" Ren asks incredulously.

"And you brought a friend." Hirakawa squints at Ren. 

"Uh, Ren Amamiya." Ren waves awkwardly. "Hey."

"Ayame Hirakawa. You're free to look around. Though don't be too loud, please."

"I've heard a lot about–" Ren tries, but Hirakawa's already disappeared to the back again.

Ren turns to Goro and waggles his eyebrows. "Your boss is hot."

Goro rolls his eyes. "Don't be crude."

"Seems like a bit of a character, though. This place reminds me of a library, not a bookstore."

Goro shrugs. "That's how Hirakawa prefers it."

"Good place to study, then. But hey, again– you're _working_?"

"I'll still be able to help you study; don't worry. I doubt anyone will actually walk in here." Goro walks over to one of the tables near the register and pulls out a chair for himself. 

Ren follows, doing the same before he sits down. "Still, though," he complains. 

"Some of us still have to work for a living," Goro tells him. Come to think of it, Hirakawa and Ren both belong to the upper echelons of society. Perhaps they could connect over it. Though considering that Hirakawa is blasé about her wealth and acknowledging his own makes Ren uncomfortable, it's unlikely.  

As expected, Ren looks self-conscious and drops it. He leans over and pulls his laptop out of his backpack. "Okay, before the paper. I, uh, need your help with something else." Ren's entire demeanor suddenly becomes weary and flat, his voice taking on a monotone.

Whatever this task is, it must be hateful to Ren. Goro raises an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

"I need to make a–" Ren mutters something.

"Don't _mumble_." Goro swats him on the shoulder.

"Okay, okay! I need to make a… page… profile… thing. For, you know, professional… stuff."

The only social media Ren has is the private Instagram he uses to "ironically" post bizarre memes beyond Goro's comprehension and embarrassing photos of his friends, a fact which has irritated Goro to no end ever since he met him. It was excruciatingly difficult to stalk– that is, seek information about–  a potential Phantom Thief when he was seemingly the only teenager in Tokyo without an active social media presence. It’s against his principles, apparently. Goro has placidly scrolled through Twitter after surreptitiously removing his hearing aid during many a long tirade from Ren about how actually making an effort on the Internet is for bootlickers, or something like that. 

And now he wants to make a schmoozy good-boy account. Goro cracks a grin; this is too funny. "Who's coercing you into this?"

"Yoshida." Ren looks glum. "He says he doesn't know how I've gotten away without having one for this long."

“Well, let’s do it,” Goro says brightly. 

“Ugh, you look so excited.”

“I am. This should be infinitely amusing.”

It doesn’t take very long to set up an account for Ren and add his major, graduation date and university into the description. Goro keeps it simple and gives Ren some respectable interests to hit _like_ on.

“Aw, a page for pictures of dogs!” Ren leans in closer to the screen. 

“I follow it on my own account and highly enjoy it. Also, liking it makes you seem more human.”

Ren shakes his head in disbelief. “I really do not understand how you think.” 

When that’s all done, Goro turns to Ren. "Do you have a picture of yourself?"

Ren passes his phone to Goro. Goro takes a look at the photos of Ren in his gallery. Most of them are blurry, obnoxious, or feature Morgana in some capacity. 

Goro sighs. "You know what? I'll just take one of you right now."

After he does, Ren looks closely at it and groans. "I look like a nerd. I wish I had my glasses, actually. Could complete the look. Hey, can I borrow a sweater vest?"

"Shut up." Goro transfers the image to his computer and uploads it to Ren's page. Then he makes a few more minor adjustments until he's satisfied. 

"There," Goro says finally. "Done. You don't even have to update it. Only follow some accounts, if you wish to. This is simply a way for other people to verify who you are."

"If people want to know who I am, they can meet me in the streets."

Goro refuses to dignify that with a response. "Let's get started on your paper."

The method Goro uses to help Ren with homework could perhaps best be called "constructive arguing".

"Is this really the best claim you can make in this section?" Goro says, squinting at the words on Ren's laptop screen. 

"What's wrong with it?"

"You don't see the holes? It could easily be improved."

"What do you have against the evidence I used?"

"It's not substantial enough. You need another source."

"I don't see why one of these sources I already have wouldn't work."

...And so on, until they're both satisfied with the end product. 

Ren's sitting right next to him, since they're both looking at one screen. Goro is very aware of the closeness. Ren keeps leaning closer to him, and their shoulders occasionally touch.

It keeps happening– Ren's knee bumping against his thigh, Ren's hand over his for the briefest second, and every time, Goro feels his heart jump-start. 

Naturally he would have a reaction, Goro tells himself. Ren is one of the only people who touches him this frequently, this… familiarly. Goro doesn't have much experience with this kind of closeness, this kind of friendship. 

But he can’t be sure. He isn’t sure if the feeling he feels is because of the visceral, human pleasure there is in being touched, or if it’s because of who’s doing the touching. And if he does too much thinking about it, he thinks his head might explode. 

When they're more than halfway through looking over Ren's paper, Ren speaks up. "You ever think about going to college?"

Goro smiles wryly. "I didn't even finish high school, Ren."

"Yeah, you did, technically. You got your certification," Ren counters. "And so what? You could pass any entrance exam."

"It's not feasible. And I don't particularly–" Ren is starting to say something, but Goro raises his voice to finish his sentence– " _want_ to."

At that, Ren looks thoughtful, but only says "Well, if you're sure," and after another moment they're on to the next paragraph.

"I can't really remember if my TA said this would be good to include or not," Ren murmurs.

"Perhaps if you took proper notes in class instead of brainstorming ways to cheat the system, that wouldn't be a problem." 

“You always have something to say in response, don’t you,” says Ren, with a teasing smile. 

“It must pain you immensely,” Goro says. It’s always like this, when he talks to Ren: the sense of competition, tempered by the familiar banality of this conversational routine that they both know so well. It’s comfortable. If he’s being honest with himself, Goro thinks that this just might be the closest honesty can come to freedom. 

“No,” says Ren. There’s something in the syllable, a sudden solemnity, that makes Goro glance up at him. 

“I like it,” Ren continues, and their eyes meet. 

It’s all very deliberate. It’s all part of the same song and dance they’ve performed since they were teenagers. It’s another thing that’s stayed the same, even as their relationship has transformed.

Ren gnaws at his lower lip– an absent gesture– but he’s looking at Goro with a gaze that’s direct, almost severe. He doesn’t sound teasing, not anymore. The slow clarity in his voice doesn’t match the tone of their conversation. 

Goro looks back at him until he can't anymore, and turns his face away. "You have a missing comma here," he says, his tone settling back into neutral flatness, and fixes his eyes on the screen once again. He thinks he hears Ren huff quietly, in something that sounds like disappointment. 

“Could really go for a soda right now,” Ren says, after a moment.

“A pity you won’t be having one.”

Ren sighs petulantly, but Goro ignores it. Ren can get almost anything he wants, but some things just aren’t good for him in large doses. 

* * *

That night, lying in bed and plagued by a nagging impulse, he reaches for his phone and finally deactivates Detective Prince Goro Akechi's Twitter account. 

He feels better after he does it. There's no point in lugging around a corpse.

* * *

The month or so after that passes so uneventfully that it's enough to almost give him a heart attack when he walks into Broadcast one morning and Makoto Niijima is sitting at the table by the register.

"Uh," Goro says, and she looks up at him.

"Oh," Niijima says. She's dressed in less casual clothes this time, the perfect picture of a student in a coat and a turtleneck sweater. "Hi, Akechi. I was hoping to catch you." She brushes her bangs out of her eyes. "I wasn't sure when your shift began."

She was _hoping to catch him_? What the hell? "What a surprise," Goro says, trying to smooth over his expression. "Is there… anything I can help you with?"

"Ah… not particularly. Well, I thought I'd thank the woman who works here… Hirakawa? Her help made a big difference with my project."

"Your project," Goro says slowly. "For your class. I assume you finished that months ago."

"Well," Niijima says. She coughs. "Yes."

They stand there in silence for a moment. 

"How long have you worked here?" Niijima says abruptly. 

"Two years now."

"I see." She's looking around at the interior of Broadcast now like she's trying to appraise the building's value on the real estate market. Just what is her game here?

Goro is about to make a pointed comment about how loitering is illegal when Niijima stands up and walks over to the register. "Actually," she tells him, "I wanted to invite you over for dinner."

"You… did?" Goro says slowly. 

"With my sister and myself. This weekend, if you're free." Niijima gazes at him squarely. She looks like she's challenging him to a duel at sunset.

"Oh. Did Sae ask you to come by?" That would make sense.

"No, actually," says Niijima. "This was my idea."

Back to making no sense. "I see." He feels trapped. There is something she isn't telling him, but he has no way of knowing what he is. What's more, he can't think of an excuse.

...On second thought, does he really need one? It's only dinner, and she's only Niijima. If she's planning something, he's sure he'll be able to handle it. And why turn down free food?

So he smiles. "That sounds lovely. I'd be delighted."

"Good. I'll see you Sunday night, then." Niijima nods. "Take care, Akechi."

Her purpose apparently fulfilled, she gets up from the table. After a short, polite bow to him, she goes to the door and leaves.

"Hmm," Hirakawa says, coming out from behind one of the shelves suddenly and making Goro jump. "She didn't buy anything."

* * *

On Sunday night he shows up to the Niijima home with some cake from the bakery.

"Oh," Sae says, and smiles at him before taking the box. "Thank you, Goro, this is nice."

She invites him inside and they sit down to eat. Conversation throughout the meal is mostly Sae and Niijima talking to each other, with Goro interjecting occasionally and answering questions when they're asked of him. And they sure are asked. Niijima frames her queries like casual conversation starters, but Goro can tell that each one is laser-focused, direct, intended to get some very specific information out of him. Figuring out how much to tell her at the spur of the moment is almost intellectually challenging enough to put him in a good mood. 

Then he has to confront the fact that his life has become so boring that even an interrogation from Makoto Niijima seems exciting. The Detective Prince is surely rolling in his grave. 

After dinner, Niijima gets up from the table to retrieve Goro's cake from the kitchen and serve it to them. 

Left at the table with Goro, Sae looks at him, considering. "You look good," she says.

"No need to sound so surprised."

Sae smiles. "You do. You seem healthy."

"Well…" Goro scratches the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious.

Sae laughs. "Is there anything you need from me?"

"No. Not at the moment. Thank you. For asking."

Niijima returns, then, with the cake, and their conversation is cut short.

After dessert, Niijma stands up. "I'll walk Akechi to the station," she says.

Goro laughs. "Thank you for the offer, Niijima, but I don't think I need any protection."

She's already by the door and pulling on her shoes, though, and paying him no mind, so Goro sighs, thanks Sae for the hospitality, and says goodbye before following her. 

They exit the building and emerge into the street a few moments later. It's a clear, cold afternoon, and twilight is coloring the sky with shades of pink and violet. Goro shivers slightly and pulls his coat tighter around him. 

Halfway to the station, Niijima stops walking.

Here it is at last. Whatever _it_ is going to be. Goro stops, too, folding his arms and arching an eyebrow. "Is something the matter?"

"Not exactly. I just had something I wanted to ask you, if that's all right." Niijima turns around and clasps her hands in front of her. 

"Sure," Goro says. It wasn't as if he couldn't tell this was coming. He just wishes Niijima hadn't stopped them out in the cold to do whatever she's going to do. 

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping my bounds," Niijima says. "I haven't…  Well, it's been a while since…" She tugs at the lapel of her jacket. "I've had a lot on my plate. But my sister's told me that you've been well, and it's been good to hear. But I wanted to ask you for myself. Are you happy now?"

Goro smiles slightly. "Three years ago I was an assassin for my deranged father. I'd say that right now I'm doing very well, considering."

Niijima doesn't flinch. "The store," she says. "Broadcast Books. It's nice."

"Thank you."

"How long do you plan to stay there?"

Goro laughs on reflex, caught off-guard by the question. "For however long it'll have me, I suppose. Why do you–" 

Niijima interrupts him.  "Akechi. Don't you have… a plan?"

...Seriously? Is this seriously it? "You know, I have to thank you again for the meal, Niijima. It was considerate of you to feed me dinner before you decided to assail me about my choices in life."

"Look, Akechi," Niijima says, and steps closer to him. 

She sounds _earnest_ , and that's what gets to Goro, suddenly– what surprises him just enough to let her continue. She isn't sanctimonious or cold, like the Niijima of old that he remembers. She's… desperate, almost.

"The way things are for you now… I'm sure I don't know everything about your life. But it seems to me that no one is encouraging you to live up to… well, to your intellect,” she said. “I've seen what you can do. There's so much you can do, and– are you really satisfied like this?"

Goro has to take a moment to even begin to think of a way to respond. He feels the urge to laugh, so he does. “I have to say," he tells her, "that I believe the world will open up for you when you at last come to the realization that not everything fits into your little lawful system of achievement-based human functioning.”

“Oh, don’t talk to me about _systems_."

Was that a snap? Niijima just snapped at him. Huh. A backbone. It seems the spirit of the post-apocalyptic raider hasn't abandoned her yet. 

“Look, Akechi," she continues to snap, "back then, you tried. You twisted the truth to better fit your vision of the world. You made things function the way you wanted them to, all so you could earn something only for yourself _._ And despite the fact that you made poor choices, that was… You were skilled, skilled enough that you might have won. But not everybody is that way. If someone like me tried to break the mold, things wouldn't work as easily for me as they would for you."

Something in her tone… Wait a minute. What the hell? “Are you jealous?" Goro says incredulously. 

She pauses for just a second too long. "That's not– I don't mean–" 

“Seriously, Niijima, you _envy_ me for even that? You do realize that I was only able to _twist the truth_ because of the powers I had, which I was granted long before any of you?” 

“No! No, I... This isn't what I wanted to talk about."

"But you have no qualms about digging into _my_ life," Goro says. "Why should I tell you anything when you give me nothing in return? Let's hear it."

"Fine." Niijma bites her lip. "Even now, I just… I don't think I've figured out how to be free. That year of wearing masks and running around Tokyo… I learned so much about myself, about the world, about my goals, but… it's a big world. And cities like this are set in their ways. They don't favor big dreams. I wonder, sometimes, if I really have the ability to make things happen for myself at all, or if that year was just a fluke."

"You know," Goro says, "you sound like Ren. Perhaps you two should discuss this together." 

Niijima smiles a weary smile. "We have. But Ren and I are very different. We… Well, it doesn't matter. The point I was trying to make is that you never seemed to have my problem. My problem with hesitation. You could do anything. I don't think that simply anybody who had your powers could have gotten as far as you did. And to see you like this… Look. I'm aware of my own failings, but I don’t think I’m being presumptuous. I don’t think you’re happy.”

“And why the hell does that matter to you? My happiness?”

"What you went through was…" Niijima shakes her head. "No one should have to go through that. What you did…"

“Ah, so you think I owe it to the world?" Goro scowls. "To make up for my sins, to go out there and do good?”

“I think you owe it to _yourself,_ ” Niijima replies, not missing a beat. She adds, "But if you must know, I think we _all_ owe something to the world. I think as long as we're here, we have a responsibility to make it better. And in that regard, Akechi, you're just like anyone else.”

"I would think you'd agree that I've already done enough damage," Goro says tightly.

Niijima shakes her head vehemently. "No. That's not what I think at all."

Goro swallows. He thinks about what he told Kagami. Kant's categorical imperative. Damn it. He's still a hypocrite, isn't he? How can he even talk about _doing good?_

Niijima breaks the silence. “For the longest time… I kept asking myself what I’d do if I was in your place. I couldn’t think of an answer.”

“Probably you wouldn’t have killed anyone,” Goro says. “You’re simply too principled.”

Niijima glares at him for smiling before continuing. “If I was… alone, without even Sae…” 

“You know, I'm already well-aware that my existence seems to be solely for the benefit of acting as a cautionary tale for you noble Thieves." Goro laughs. "That's all that this is about, isn't it? You're only pretending to care so you can feel better about yourself."

Niijima grits her teeth. “You know, Akechi, when people are trying to relate to you, you’d do well to not act like a– a–”

“A what?” taunts Goro. 

“A _little bitch!”_ snaps Niijima.

There’s a silence.

“My God,” Goro says, less offended than he is taken aback. 

“I’m sorry,” Niijima says, face ashen. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“My _God_ , Niijima,” Goro says again, and then he laughs. 

He laughs, genuinely and deeply for longer than just a conversational pause, because it's _funny._ It's funny that he's standing out here with Niijima in the cold, in the middle of the street. It's funny that she's covering her mouth like she's trying to think of a way to atone. And it's hilarious that despite all that he's done, despite their differences, she wants him _happy_ instead of locked away somewhere he can never hurt anybody again. 

“Sorry," Niijima mutters again when he's finally calmed down. "I don’t really know how to continue this conversation anymore."

"I think," Goro says, "that you should walk me to the station in silence, whereupon we'll have an amicable parting."

Niijima shakes her head at him. "You know… I can't tell if you're completely different or you haven't changed at all."

"Honestly, neither can I." Goro grins at her. "Shall we go?"

* * *

Niijima's words only inspire two-and-a-half late-night panic attacks, so Goro is doing just great. Perhaps the crawling feelings of displacement that creep up on him throughout an average day and the debilitating anxiety he's started to feel when he has to make even the simplest choice is a sign that things are improving, that he's gaining a sense of self-awareness. He's growing a conscience, right? That's what the past few years have been about. Of course there will be… growing pains. 

Niijima's annoyingly persistent concern is more-or-less appreciated– she pressed him into exchanging numbers and she hasn't texted him yet in the weeks since they spoke, though Goro fears that soon the day will come– but she's wrong. Goro's life is fine. This is how things should be. Right now, his obligation to the world is to stay declawed and anonymous and make sure he's not in a position where he has the power to do any more harm. That's the most good he can do at the moment. 

Despite that being what he tells himself– what he knows is the truth– Goro still feels the dark clouds of a depressive episode hang over him for a while. Then, one day, Futaba messages him about hanging out at Ren's apartment the next afternoon. 

He could use the distraction, and he'd like to see the two of them, so he goes. 

When he gets there and knocks on the door, Futaba opens it. Her eyebrows shoot up. "Look who decided to grace us with his presence!"

"Thank you for having me over." Goro steps in, removes his shoes, and looks around. Ren's apartment looks the same as it did when he was here before. A few of Kitagawa's sketches on the walls, plus that weird motivational poster of a dolphin that says _Leap over the moon!_ which Ren thinks is just hilarious for some reason and which reminds Goro vaguely of Dr. Watanabe’s book. The dining table next to the kitchenette is set up neatly, complete with a grandma-esque tin box of cookies in the center, which Goro finds hilarious, personally. Everything here is actually quite neat. Ren has a thing about cleaning. 

"Yeah, yeah. Ditch the politeness," Futaba replies. 

Goro feels a sudden wave of affection. He grins at her. "I'm glad to see you again."

"Oh," Futaba mutters, and turns away. "Whatever."

It's too easy. "In fact," Goro says, "I missed you."

"Aaargh, shut up! You're annoying! Getting snacks!" Futaba stalks out of the room. 

"Good to see you two are getting along."

Goro looks up. The voice is Ren's– he's emerged from the hall, wearing sweatpants and a shirt that displays the name of his high school's swim team. He grins at Goro.

"Have you just woken up?" Goro raises an eyebrow.

Ren yawns and runs a hand through his bedhead, which doesn't look very different from his usual hair. "Maybe."

Something about the sight of him like this makes Goro's chest feel strange. He looks away. "Where’s Morgana?”

“Out on one of his walks. Not sure if he’ll be back very soon.”

“Well, you may have just woken up, but it's six in the evening,” Goro says. “I expect to be entertained."

"And entertained you will be. Futaba brought Super Mario Party."

Snacks are acquired and an HDMI cable is procured.

"Peach again? Switch it up sometimes." Futaba shakes her head at Goro before selecting Yoshi. Ren picks Luigi. 

"How has school been, Futaba?" Goro asks her as the game loads.

She grunts. "Boring."

"She's the smartest one in her class," Ren says. "Has been since she got to Kosei."

"How many clubs are you in now?" Goro asks. 

"Uh…" Futaba presses a button on the controller. "I lost track." Futaba's apparently quite popular amongst most of the science and technology clubs, who frequently beg for her help in their activities. She's even gone on weekend trips for the purpose of attending competitions once or twice. "They're all obsessed with me, seriously! I keep having to turn people down just so I can have an hour to nap."

"You go all the way home just to nap?" 

"Nah, I find places to sleep at school," Futaba says matter-of-factly. 

Ren sighs. "If I tried to sleep at Shujin or at school back home they would have kicked my ass. I don't know how you do it."

"Sheer talent and charisma." Futaba glares at the screen until the game loads. "All right, let's do this!"

Even as he's focused on stealing Ren's stars, Goro can't keep anxious thoughts away. How is he supposed to think about what he owes to the world? It was hard enough to get to this point–  the point where he can sit here among friends whose lives he's either ruined or tried to end, and enjoy their company. He trusts Futaba and Ren, but only because they were honest with him– about the wrong he's done, about their own faults, about what they expect from him. He can't expect other people to give him as much as that, so how can he give so much of himself?

 _The world can be your lodging._ Kitagawa's voice from months ago is echoing from within Goro's mind, and he shakes his head slightly as if to cast out the thought.

Why does it feel like he's missing something? But while usually such a feeling implies that he's lacking something, some human quality that makes his life that much harder, this time it's more like what he senses when he's trying to solve a problem or unravel a mystery. It's as if a clue could be waiting for him if he just keeps persisting– as if he's on the right track. 

Goro ends up mentioning that he had dinner with Niijima and Sae, though he leaves out the details.

"You know, you and Makoto should just be friends already," Futaba says. "You're both nerds and she even likes old Greek things like you."

"She does?" Ren interjects.  

"Yeah, lately she's been carrying around books about that one lady. Sappho."

"I don't really know if that's because she likes Greek stuff, specifically," Ren says.

"The term is _classics_ , not _Greek stuff_ ," Goro tells him.

"Whatever, Dark Pit," Futaba says. 

"Dark… Pit?" 

"Yeah, 'cause Ren is Pit." She then does not explain what that means and immediately wins the game of Mario Party. "Score! Hell yeah! Take that, plebs."

Ren groans, and then looks over at Goro. He raises an eyebrow. "Hey, you know it's just a game, right?"

"I was so close," Goro seethes. 

"Well, I came in third." Ren sighs theatrically. "I'm gonna get drinks. What do you guys want? I have basically every kind of soda."

They play a few more rounds and then spend some time lounging around with the TV on. After a while of that, Futaba suddenly bolts upright from where she's been lying on the couch. "Hey, I almost forgot! Ren, you owe me new earbuds. He broke mine," she informs Goro. 

"It was completely my fault, and very tragic. Don't worry, I have them. Here," Ren says, removing a package from his pocket and tossing it to her.

Futaba catches and examines it, turning the package over in her hands. "Oh, is this–" She stops suddenly. 

Then she looks at Ren, and a complicated interaction seems to take place between them in a fraction of a second. Futaba raises her eyebrows, and Ren gives a one-shouldered shrug, his face blank. Goro looks back and forth at their faces. Then Futaba's gaze flickers over to Goro before she turns away. 

"Is that what?" Goro asks, suspicious.

Futaba swiftly places the package in her own pocket. "The kind that I wanted. It's a perfect replacement! Thank you, Ren! So grateful!" Then she turns the volume up louder on the television. 

Goro frowns, but the two of them seem to have already moved on. 

At the end of the night, Futaba stands up. "Gonna go before the trains stop running."

"Alright," Ren says. "You, too, Goro?"

"Ah, I'll help you clean up," Goro says.

"Oh, thanks. Will you have enough time, though?"

"It'll be fine."

They say goodbye to Futaba, who returns Goro’s farewell with "See ya, second place!" before leaving. 

Ren watches her retreat for a moment before he shuts the door. He smiles. "She's come really far."

"She has," Goro says. "It's been good to see."

"Yeah. All right, time to tidy up." Ren starts to makes his way to the kitchen.

Before he can, though, Goro reaches out and grabs his shoulder. 

Ren freezes. 

Goro steps forward. "Ren," he says sweetly into Ren's ear. 

Ren stands up straighter. "Yeah?"

Goro shuffles even closer until there's barely an inch of space between himself and Ren. "What was Futaba going to say about what you gave her?"

"Oh. That. Uh, that's– nothing." Ren's eyes flicker away from him. 

Goro squeezes Ren's shoulder, first lightly, then with a little more pressure, and finally hard enough to dig his nails into the fabric of Ren's shirt.

"Ow!" Ren hisses. 

"You stole it," Goro says calmly. "Didn't you?"

Ren jerks away from him. "Why would you say that?!"

"Because I could clearly see the anti-theft magnetic sticker on the packaging! And even if I hadn't, the way you two were acting would have given it away!"

"You… God. Okay. Fine. I stole it." Ren holds up his hand in a gesture of surrender. "So what?"

Goro's flabbergasted. "Do you do this _frequently_?"

Ren hesitates for a second too long.

"Ren!"

"Not like… _super_ frequently," Ren attempts. 

"Why? Are you running out of money?"

"Well, no."

"Then what reason could you possibly have?"

Ren shrugs, just once, and Goro realizes immediately what's just happened. He's hit a Ren Wall, that barrier that goes up whenever Ren doesn’t want to talk about himself. As such, Goro won't get any answers no matter how much he prods, and asking further questions will only lead to Ren getting angry. 

He can't stop himself, though. "What about Yoshida?" Goro says sharply. "All the opportunities you have, what you've been given?"

Ren just sets his jaw. “Are you really upset with me about this?” 

"If you can't tell why I'm upset," Goro says coldly, "then you're more of a fool than I thought.”

Ren looks away. “Can we just not fight right now? Please?”

“Are you going to explain yourself?”

Ren, behind the Wall, is silent. 

So Goro clenches his fists, turns around, and leaves the most frustrating man he's ever met alone in his apartment. 

* * *

Him and Ren fighting is not an unusual occurrence. They argue, of course, when they talk, but none of that comes from a place of real anger. Then there are spats like these– the ones where they actually don't speak for days. 

There have only been a few of them so far. All have ended amicably, but they’ve taken quite a while to resolve. The problem is that Ren is very stubborn. And Goro supposes he isn't the most forgiving person, either. Maybe. Probably. 

So neither of them reaches out for days. Goro tries not to drive himself crazy over it. He doesn’t _need_ this, not right now, not when he’s feeling like this, and he can’t stop thinking about the trouble Ren might be getting into or why he’s doing something like shoplifting if it’s not born from necessity. When Goro’s taken things from stores it’s been because he was poor and a child and foster homes didn’t always have resources aplenty to provide him with things like school supplies or snacks. Ren doesn’t have that problem. So what the hell? 

He’s visibly in a bad mood. Even Hirakawa raises her eyebrows once or twice at his moody silence. Mrs. Suzuki from next door gives him a double-take one day and informs him that he looks “like there's a storm cloud over your head, dear!"

That goes on for almost a week, until one afternoon Goro has to put it out of his mind when he gets a phone call. The caller ID informs him the call is from the Kato residence. 

Goro picks up. “Hello?”

“Goro?” It's a small, uncertain voice– Kagami's voice. 

“Yes, it’s me. Kagami? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. But Daddy said… He said to call you. He had to go.” 

“He had to go? Are you alone?”

“Yeah. But it’s not a big _deal,_ I’m okay–”

Goro frowns. “I’m coming over. Just give me–” Shit. How soon can he be there? “I’m sorry, Kagami, it’s going to take me half an hour.”

“That’s okay, really, I don’t–”

“Lock the doors and don’t go outside. Okay?”

“Yeah, I _know!_ ”

“Call me or your dad if anything happens,” Goro tells her. “I’m on my way now, okay?”

“Okay. Bye.” 

The whole way over he fumes silently with indignance over Mr. Kato’s actions. Being an airheaded father is one thing, but what justification could he possibly have had to leave Kagami by herself? 

He tells himself Kagami will be fine, but he’s only really put at ease when he finally gets to the Kato home. There, he finds Kagami sitting on the couch and watching television.  

"Hi," Goro tells her. 

"Hi." Kagami seems withdrawn.

"Kagami," says Goro, "did your dad tell you where he was going?"

"No," Kagami mumbles.

"All right. Have you eaten?"

She hasn't, so Goro makes her a sandwich using whatever he can find in the fridge. After that he calls Mr. Kato on his phone. 

Mr. Kato picks up, sounding tired when he does. "Hello?"

"It's Akechi. I'm with Kagami."

“Oh, Goro. Thank goodness."

"If I may ask," Goro begins, "what compelled you to leave Kagami by herself? I'm happy to have been able to make it here, but if I hadn't–"

"I know." Mr. Kato sounds apologetic and slightly abashed. "I wouldn't have, if I had any other choice. You see, Goro… well, I'm at the police station."

Now, that's unexpected. "Why?"

He hears Mr. Kato sigh. "Goro, did you know Kagami has a brother, Takumu?"

Goro remembers the pictures around the house. "I had ascertained that much."

"I can't really get into it that much right now, but he's… It's my fault. It really is. Ever since Aiko passed away, Taku's just become… He's been around the wrong people, doing the wrong things. I always tried to stop him, but I suppose I didn't try hard enough. Now it's all catching up with him."

Goro walks over to the kitchen, lowering his voice until he's sure it can't be heard over the volume of the TV. "Mr. Kato, is Takumu all right?"

"He's fine. He's not injured, thank God, not at all. Thank you so much for this. I tried to call other people on my way out, but I was in such a rush, and… I just didn't want anyone else asking questions until I found out what was happening for myself."

"I understand."

"Goro, I have to go now. Don't worry if you need to leave later. I can ask somebody else."

"It's fine," Goro says softly. "Only concern yourself with what needs to be taken care of."

"Thank you again, Goro. Tell Kagami I'll probably be home in a few hours, won't you?"

"Of course. Goodbye."

Goro hangs up and lets out a breath. 

What kind of Dickensian family is this? A dead mother, a struggling father, a sick daughter, and a wayward son, all in one package? Goro needs to become acquainted with some regular people.    

He walks back over to the living room couch and sits next to Kagami. "Your dad should be home in a few hours," he tells her.

"It's about Taku," she says. "Isn't it? When he was leaving… He always looks like that when it's about Taku." She sinks down into the couch cushions. 

"He's fine," Goro says quickly. "Your brother isn't hurt at all. He only… he's in a bit of a difficult situation."

"He doesn't care," Kagami mutters. "He doesn't care about us. He says he does, but if he did, he wouldn't do bad things."

"I'm sure that's not…" 

"Daddy was yelling at him before." Kagami's lower lip is wobbling. "He was saying if he keeps being stupid he's not gonna get away with it anymore. He said…"

And then Kagami really starts to cry, and Goro's heart feels like it's been flattened and tied into knots. "I heard Daddy talking on the phone. He didn't know I was listening. He said if the court people want they can make him go live with someone else. Another family."

She lets out a sob, and Goro pulls her closer instinctively. "There, there," he murmurs, rubbing her back as she cries harder into his shirt. He feels overwhelmed, but he tries to make himself think rationally. If Takumu is young enough, the court could reassign him to a foster home, but there's little chance of that. Right? Mr. Kato is a little scatterbrained, sure, but anyone can see that he's a good father, can't they? "Trust your dad, okay?" Goro tells Kagami in a low tone. "It'll be okay. Just a few hours."

* * *

...from  _Dr. Watanabe’s Guide to Finding a New You_ , Chapter 8: “Appreciate You!”

What happens when we love someone– whether it be a friend, a family member, or a significant other? 

Love is one of the most enriching experiences a person can have. But when we really love somebody, or even if we simply admire them, we can end up hurting both ourselves and others by putting people on a pedestal. 

Remember– just because you know someone well doesn’t mean you understand everything about them. Nobody is perfect, and all too often, we fail to see our own strengths and positive traits– we’re our own worst critics! 

So the next time you feel tempted to compare yourself to somebody, think of the age-old “apples and oranges” adage. Appreciate others for what they are, and you’ll find your own insecurities lessen.

* * *

Goro gets the rest of the details after Mr. Kato comes home and through a subsequent phone call. Takumu Kato, 15 years old, has indeed gotten himself into quite a bit of trouble during the past couple of years. He has an impressive collection of typical delinquent infractions on his record: occasional fights, destruction of property, and scattered thievery. 

No way he's in this all by himself, Goro thinks. He's seen this type of thing before during his stint as a detective. Young delinquents like Takumu tend to move in packs. 

Takumu's had a few brushes with authority before; once the principal of his school almost went through with calling the police on him. This time, it looks like he's going to have to appear before a judge. The options before him are grim– a stay in a correctional facility, or– the thing Kagami and her father most fear– placement in a foster home.

Judging from Mr. Kato's silently devastated tone, the second option is a real possibility. Goro can't wrap his head around it. Takumu has a family– a loving one, struggling though its members may be. Why should someone like that have to fear being a part of the foster system, a system Goro knows from experience is neither kind nor unforgiving?

Not all of his foster homes were terrible as a child. But the disdain with which Goro was treated by apathetic caseworkers and bureaucrats– the people who made the system what it was– was seated into his consciousness. He was taught that he was _lesser_ , and he was taught that lesson well. Takumu shouldn't have to feel that way. No one should.

The sudden intensity of that thought surprises Goro. Maybe that's the fire Sae was trying to bring out in him. This must be how it feels to be a Phantom Thief. 

He keeps thinking about Takumu for the next day or so, the fire burning steady. With that at the forefront of his mind, remembering the fight with Ren bothers him a little less. 

But then Goro finally gets a message from him. 

> [16:44] **Ren** : hey  
>  [16:44] **Ren** : look  
>  [16:44] **Ren** : [IMG_7647.jpg]  
>  [16:45] **Ren** : I got us tickets for a movie tmrw night   
>  [16:45] **Ren** : just come  
>  [16:45] **Ren** : I'll explain myself ok  
>  [16:45] **Ren** : pleaaase

* * *

It is a terrible movie. 

Ren's gotten tickets for an action film with dialogue and plot so hamfisted that Goro is shocked any of it made it past the editing phase. It's torture, because he keeps wanting to lean over to Ren and point out all the inconsistencies, but he can't because Ren isn't _talking to him._

They met up at the front with barely a greeting, and entered the theater in silence. And now they're sitting here, watching another explosion happen in the movie, _wasting time._

Finally, twenty minutes into it, Ren leans over to Goro. "Look," he says, the normal volume of his voice obscured by the on-screen explosion and the resulting chaos. "We have to talk."

"Clearly," Goro hisses back, "so why are we here?"

"You know–" The sounds in the movie come to a sudden abrupt silence, and Ren's last syllable comes out sounding very audible to all of the other theater-goers here with them. 

Goro pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Ren ducks his head with consternation and lowers his voice. "You know," he whispers, "that I'm not good at this. Talking about myself. But I'm trying, okay?"

"Then talk," Goro says stonily, folding his arms and staring resolutely at the screen. 

Ren leans forward and turns to Goro, his serious face half-lit up from the glow of the screen. "Well, first of all–" 

There's a sudden crashing noise in the movie, and they both flinch. 

"Ren," Goro growls. "My apologies, but I cannot have this conversation right now. I am actually finding it impossible to do so under the present circumstances."

"I thought you were good at multitasking."

"I excel at multitasking when the situation calls for it, and not when a problem is being _manufactured_ by someone who is apparently too consumed with either his own ennui or penchant for unnecessary scheming to share his line of thinking with the person he promised to explain himself to!"

"Can you lay off? I'm not _scheming_ , and I'm just trying to–"

"Guys?"

Goro turns to see an unimpressed-looking man dressed in the theater's employee uniform. 

"We got a complaint," he tells them. "You two need to tone it down or take it outside."

A few minutes later, Ren is leaning over the air hockey table in the theater's arcade. 

"I'm really good at this game," he tells Goro.

"Are you," Goro says flatly.

"I'll play you."

The machine only takes 50-yen coins. "I don't have any change."

"Me, neither," Ren admits.

They stare down at the table instead.

"What are these things called, even?" Ren asks.

"They're strikers." Goro grabs one at his end of the table and pushes it over to Ren. Without the air on, it slides slowly and doesn't make it very far. 

"Strikers, huh," Ren says. He leans over the table, grabs it, and slides it back to Goro. 

Goro catches it in his waiting hand and doesn't let go right away. He lifts his head and looks at Ren, raising an eyebrow. 

Ren sighs. "Okay." He takes a breath. 

After a moment, he says, "I miss being a–" He stops and lowers his voice, as if there's anyone at all near them. "A Phantom Thief, sometimes. A lot of the time, actually. Okay, most of the time.."

He says it like it should be some sort of grand revelation, but Goro is wholly unsurprised.

Ren smiles slightly. "Hell, I even kind of miss Mementos. Creepy goddamn place."

Mementos. Goro remembers his first time there. The first thing that captivated in the Metaverse, when it had no name that he knew and he was fifteen, just beginning to explore its funhouse depths and crevices, was his own appearance. Pale with shock and almost stumbling, he found a wall to lean against or some place to sit, away from Shadows, and stared at his own clothes– his regal clothes, the nicest he'd ever worn up to that point, fit for a prince, fit for a superhero.

Goro had had to learn to be handy with a needle and thread; he'd spent a lot of time critically examining his own clothes for signs of wear, he'd dedicated hours to repair. He did the same for these clothes, as an instinctive quality check. And as he looked, something strange occurred to him– there were no seams anywhere. None at all. Not a single visible stitch.

There was no way these clothes should be able to hold together. But they were– not by any kind of machine or human labor, but by a force that governed the rules of reality here.

Such a realization bewildered Goro so much that it made him almost frantic with shock. It wasn't the monsters, or the way the colors here were… off, or the solitude, or the unnatural silence, that convinced him he had entered a world completely unlike the one he was used to. It was the subtle unreality of the fact that he couldn't find any _seams on his clothes._ There was something so overpoweringly wrong about it that he could feel himself going insane trying to understand it, so he stopped trying to understand. He just allowed it to happen. 

He let it all happen. 

"I'm never gonna feel like that again," Ren says, bringing Goro back to the present moment. "No matter what happens. I mean, sometimes I still have dreams where…" His expression changes, and he looks distracted for a moment before he seems to return to himself. "But it's never going to be the same. I really did end up peaking in high school, I guess."

"You haven't peaked," Goro says. 

Ren just shakes his head. For a moment, he's silent. Then, he says, "I'm bored, Goro. I'm really bored… all the time. And I know how stupid it sounds, that I'm complaining because I don't get to live out a superhero fantasy anymore. But I'll never feel like that again. You know? The stakes will never be that high again."

"You're bored," Goro says, and _then_ it makes sense. He's known about Ren's restlessness, so why hadn't he realized? "So you steal. Not because you need to. You just want to see if you can get away with it."

Ren cringes. "I've never really thought about it like that. Going right to profiling me, huh?"

"Don't deflect."

"Fine. I guess you're right. I mean, I never did it before everything happened. But now, I mean… well, I still have some leftover skills. It makes it really easy." 

"Leftover skills? What do you mean?"

"Nothing too big. Call it advanced eyesight." Ren smiles slightly. "Anyway, it's stupid. I know it's dumb and it's wrong. But…" He shrugs. "It's tempting _._ " 

"You're right," Goro says sharply. "It is very stupid. Really, having this kind of habit–" It makes sense, but it doesn't make any sense. "I expected better from you, Ren."

"Oh, did you?" Ren looks sour, suddenly. "I don't know, Goro. Maybe this is a good time for you to…" He clenches his jaw. "Never mind."

Goro frowns. "What?"

"It's just that– sometimes I feel like you have all these expectations of who I should be, and… whatever. Forget it."

"I should think it's not unrealistic of me to expect you to not commit unnecessary petty crimes, _Ren._ "

"I said _forget it._ "

He's let go of the air hockey table, and his hands at his side are clenched tightly into fists. Goro can ascertain two things: Ren's trying to stop himself from stalking off, and any more needling could push him over the edge. 

Even so, Goro won't just give up here. "Tell me," Goro demands. "Tell me. So that I'm able to understand. You can't just… Give me a chance."

Ren takes a breath. "I don't _know how_ , okay? I don't know how to say it. I'm trying. I…" He runs a hand through his hair, a brief, frustrated gesture. "You just… I'm not perfect. I fuck up sometimes. Actually, I fuck up a lot. But you… Sometimes I don't know if you get that. That even though all of the things that happened did happen to me, I make regular mistakes." 

Goro doesn't reply for a moment, and then he figures out what he wants to say. "Ren," he says. "I've seen you almost accidentally drink Kitagawa's paint water. Recently, you couldn't figure out where to insert a flash drive into a computer. And that was right before spilling coffee on your math notes."

Ren eyes him warily. "I'm not sure what you're trying to say here, but maybe you should reconsider it."

"I know that in the past I was bitter, and… envious." That's still not a very fun admission to make. "I saw you as someone I needed to overtake. When I was still…" He clears his throat. "When I worked for Shido, I was certain that taking you down would take care of all my problems. I thought about you frequently. And the way I did wasn't fair to you. Sometimes I still fall back into old habits, because…"

The words that need to be said stick in his throat. _Because you're the person who means the most to me. Because you've done so much for other people that sometimes being with you only reminds me of my own failings. Because it's still sometimes a little hard to believe you're real. Because I don't always trust myself to be able to see everything that I need to see._

Goro smiles, automatically. "Because I'm prone to thinking too much, I'm afraid," he says. "Regardless, now I know you. I know you aren't a perfect enemy. I know you make mistakes." 

Ren hesitates. "I–"

"Many mistakes," Goro can't help but say.

"Ha ha. Okay. Well, that's good to hear, I guess."

"And I understand, Ren. Don't you think that I would feel the same way as you? Despite my own mistakes, I miss those days, too, on occasion. I miss… the feeling, that I could do anything, that no one could keep me down. I miss my Personae. Quite a lot." Goro closes his eyes for a moment, and then opens them again. "So I do understand. But this habit of yours… I was angry when you told me about it, because you're putting yourself at risk. You could be caught and have another offense staining your record. And even if that risk is precisely why you're so loath to quit, it's careless. It's foolish and it's not in your self-interest. It makes me worry. And others, too, I’m sure. So stop. Please."

"Okay," Ren says. 

...Wait.

Just like that?

Goro's startled. "Okay?"

Ren smiles at him. "Yeah."

"Why… why all of a sudden?"

Ren grins wider and shrugs. "It's nice to hear that you care about me."

"I _do_ care about you. You know that very well."

"I do. It's just always nice to hear it." Ren is positively beaming now. 

"Right. Well." Goro can feel his face starting to turn red. "You're being truthful, aren't you? You'll stop this?"

"I will, I _promise._ Can we talk about something else now? And let's get out of here." Ren shakes his head. "I'll buy you bubble tea."

"You already bought the movie tickets. I'll cover it."

"We got kicked out of the movie, though."

"And it was awful, but that hardly matters. Where would you like to go?"

There's a place nearby close enough to walk to, so they do, despite how chilly it is. They share a companionable silence for a few minutes, and in the quiet Goro can feel whispering thoughts needling him again. 

"Ren," Goro says slowly. "Do you think I can ever make up for it?"

Ren doesn't reply at first, so Goro adds, "For everything I did when–" 

"Goro." Ren's voice is suddenly sharp. "Don't ask me that."

"Why?" Taken aback, Goro narrows his eyes. "Do you think I can't? That I'll always be a–"  

"No. It's not that." Ren's tone is so decisive that Goro quiets at once. "I don't like hearing you talk about yourself like that. I don't like hearing anyone talk like that, not when you sound like _him._ "

"Him?"

"That guy," Ren mutters. "Even if you don't always talk about it, I know that's what you're doing. Calculating. Trying to decide how much worth you have based on what happened back then and who you are now. And that's not… the right way to look at it. It's exactly how that guy wanted us to look at it, all these things in terms of points and scores to settle and fucked-up games."

"That guy?" Goro frowns. Then realization dawns. “Yaldabaoth. Did you just call Yaldabaoth _that guy_?" For fuck’s sake.

“Don’t say his name, it’s probably like Voldemort," Ren mutters. "It’s probably cursed. It has bad energy. Look, I'm just… I’m tired of thinking about everything in terms of possibilities and hypotheticals. It doesn't help me and it won't help you either. I need to just… keep moving forward. I want to be there for you because you’re my friend, and I will be in any other way, but If I think like that, I start…" He closes his eyes. "I can't." 

“Okay,” Goro says, throat dry. 

“I’m sorry,” Ren says, and he really does look apologetic, and a little worn. 

“No,” Goro says, and panic rises at the thought of being the cause of Ren’s pain again. “I'm the one who should apologize. I won't ask you to think that way anymore. You don’t need to be the one who looks after everyone."

“I know," Ren says, and laughs a little. "It still feels bad.”

Goro shakes his head. "There's your hero complex again."

"Yeah, yeah." Ren kicks at some dust on the ground absently. Then he turns to Goro. "Hey. Can you say that again so I can record it?"

"What?"

"'I'm the one who should apologize'. I just want it on tape."

Goro elbows him in the side. 

"Ow!" Ren cries, but he's laughing. 

Then they start walking faster, keen to get out of the cold. 

At the boba shop, they find a table away from the din of a larger party's conversation. Ren looks down at the table, moving a napkin around with his index finger. "Can I tell you something? I guess I've been wanting to talk about it for a while," he says. "And I think you're the only one who would understand."

"Of course." Goro sits back in his chair. Ren is more talkative than usual tonight, more open. He's clearly making an effort. Goro intends to hear every word. 

"My parents…  are really religious." Ren sighs. "Majorly Buddhist. It was just another thing, you know, growing up, that was expected of me, just like… having good manners, or whatever."

Goro imagines a small Ren tagging along with his parents to shrines. "I've never known you to have good manners," he says. He wants to ease some of the tension he sees in Ren's face and in the stiff way he carries himself. 

"Shut up," Ren says, but Goro can tell it works, because Ren grins at him and slouches, more relaxed. "Well, anyway. When I was a kid, I thought there might be more, too. More, like, cosmically more. But I got tired of all the rules and rituals my parents taught me, so I kind of rebelled. I started… Hey, have you heard of angel numbers?"

"Sorry?"

"Angel numbers." Ren looks serious. "Numbers that repeat in sequences and show up in people's lives. People who watch out for them think that if you keep seeing them, it means an angel's trying to send you a message."

"An… angel," Goro says slowly. He's wondering if he should laugh, but Ren doesn't look like he's joking. "And you believe this?"

"I know it sounds kind of wild, but for a long time, I guess I did. It was more about the feeling." Ren shrugs. "That feeling of comfort when I saw three fives in a row in somebody's phone number and then again later on TV. It always seemed like the idea of an angel was too big for me to really imagine, but when I saw those numbers it really felt like… fate. It felt like something was watching over me."

"What if you saw three fours in a row? That would be a rather ill omen."

Ren just looks at Goro with a raised eyebrow, like he's missing the point, before he continues. "I liked seeing sevens the best. And it did feel like I saw it a lot– 777. I saw it in math problems in class or in spare change or in random barcodes. But then…" 

"...Then?"

Ren hesitates. "I went on believing in that kind of stuff for a while. Angel numbers and horoscopes and that kind of thing. I know you think it's stupid– no, don't give me that look, I know you do– but it was pretty important to me. But then the Metaverse… happened. And things changed."

"Your Personae," Goro says. He was always enthralled, despite himself, by Ren's veritable collection of masks. It was hard not to stare when he called each one by its name, seeming to never run out of more and more to bring forward in battle. "Did they seem like angels to you?"

"Yeah, in a way. But… I don't know. Seeing everything in the Metaverse, being a Phantom Thief… it wasn't anything I'd imagined before. I mean, I thought it was beautiful. I loved being a Thief– I told you that. At the same time, though… everything I'd believed in up until then felt smaller, like it lost significance." Ren furrows his brow. "I did learn a lot about tarot, though. Anyway, it started off that way, and it was like that the whole time we were Thieves. I didn't feel much about it then." He ducks his head and laughs a little. "Being a Thief was its own belief system. Maybe not for all of us, but it was for me. That feeling of righteousness was like a drug, almost. There was no room for anything else." He pauses. 

"What happened afterwards?" Goro asks.

Ren frowns. "Afterwards, there was that guy."

"That– oh."

"It fucked with my head. To think that I was just being… manipulated, that whole time. Maybe that was when things started to get a little twisted."

"And by that, you mean…"

"The numbers," Ren says quietly. "Things changed.  I used to see angel numbers and feel like I had something looking out for me. It was small and simple, and then… it wasn't. Suddenly, when I saw a triple-seven, I didn't feel lucky or safe anymore. I thought about the palaces, about the seven deadly sins, about all the fucked-up ways I'd seen fucked-up people behave." Ren looks down. "That went on for a while. All the numbers I saw started reminding me of things I wanted to forget. It made me feel anxious, the opposite of safe. That was… rough, and it went on for a while. Memories coming back at bad times– not just from seeing numbers, but other things, too. Cop cars and…" He clears his throat. "Anyway, it didn't feel like there was anything to believe in anymore."

"Ren." Goro swallows, hard. "I'm sorry."

“Hey, don't worry,” Ren says. “It’s not like I'm… I don’t have panic attacks at the mere sight of police cars or whatever. Some things just stay with you. Or go away. Or change completely." He laughs. It sounds a little hesitant, a little ashamed. 

“It would be all right if you had panic attacks,” Goro murmurs. “It would be understandable.” God knows Goro's had his own. 

"Thanks again," Ren says, smiling. "For caring." He takes the napkin he was fiddling with and crumples it in his hand. He's silent for a moment, and then he says, carefully, "I started talking to somebody about it, you know. University counselor."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Ren shrugs. "I get a few guaranteed appointments a semester, so I thought I might as well use them. It wasn't actually that hard to talk about stuff without mentioning the Metaverse or whatever. It was weird, though. To put so much emphasis on emotions. I didn't realize it, but I still felt trapped."

"You? Trapped?" 

"Yeah… by all the stuff I was talking about. Counting and watching for numbers and feeling like I was still… playing that guy's game."

"Yaldabaoth."

Ren glares at him, but then he smiles wryly. "Like I was still playing Yaldabaoth's game. I'm still scared, sometimes. That I don't get to choose which path to take. I get paranoid. That even now it's all just being chosen for me."

"I had no idea you felt that way," Goro says. 

"Yeah, well…" Ren trails off. They share a moment of silence. Across the room, a group of teenage girls all shriek at something before bursting into peals of laughter. 

Ren turns to watch them for a moment before facing Goro again. "Well," he says, "I tell myself this: I'm nobody's gamepiece anymore. I don't have to put up with the whims of fate." Ren looks resolute. "That's the truth. Sometimes I just have a hard time believing it."

"You never seemed like a pawn to me," Goro tells him. "Not then, nor now." He steeples his fingers underneath his chin and looks at Ren consideringly. "You could be a leader of men, you know. A trailblazer."

Ren reddens, which is delightful, and replies, "I could tell you the same thing. I meant what I said, about how you have to stop weighing everything you do based on how the past went. Now you get the chance to do whatever you want. You can be someone your childhood self would look up to. Someone that kid would be proud of. I think that's what's most important… before even thinking about atonement, or anything like that." Ren shrugs. "It's a first step that takes a while. But it's still a good first step, I think."

"That's surprisingly inspirational. Have you considered taking up the mantle of street-preacher from Yoshida?" Goro grins. 

"Shut up." Ren kicks his leg under the table. 

Goro kicks back, and they almost end up wrestling right there until Goro nearly knocks over Ren's cup of bubble tea and a truce is hastily declared. 

"Thanks," Ren says, after that's over. 

"For what?"

"Listening to me ramble." Ren rubs the back of his neck. "I appreciate it."

Goro watches him for a moment and smiles. "We've come far, haven't we?"

"I mean, yeah. Never thought I'd be close to starting brawls in boba shops with you."

"With your attempted murderer." He and Ren have taken to joking about it. It's a coping method. 

"Wow, my attempted murderer is here? You should tell him half his collar is up."

Goro hastily fixes his shirt. "I'm sure he'd only reply by informing you that faded band T-shirts don't give him much room to comment on other people's wardrobes."

"Well, he should know that his jokes are terrible."

"You must not hate them completely, considering all the time you spend with your attempted murderer."

"Eh… my attempted murderer's alright. I like him. He's not that bad of a conversationalist."

They look at each other for a moment, and then Ren smiles slowly at Goro.

Goro smiles back, and wills his face not to turn red.

He really has to watch his heart. 

"All right," Ren says. "No more talk about death or fate or any of that for the rest of the night. Deal?"

"Deal. Gladly."

They clink their plastic cups together. 

"Actually," Goro says, "I wanted to pick your brain about something else."

"What's up?"

"It's about somebody important. You remember Kagami, don't you?"

* * *

Some time later, spring’s finally come. Goro ended the winter by making a decision, after thinking about a lot of things– Ren's advice, Niijima's words, Kitagawa's musings, and even what he'd told Kagami. 

After some hesitation, he finally worked up the motivation to Google _chiho watanabe office..._

...and found nothing. He wasn't exactly expecting the Dr. Watanabe from his book to be very accessible, but their complete lack of presence online is a little ridiculous. He has a secret weapon, though. No way Futaba can turn him down this time. He just has to find the right thing to bribe her with. 

It would be much easier to schedule an appointment with a therapist he can find from somewhere else, or even to go back to the man he'd had those few testy appointments with after everything happened. But… it's silly, but he feels close to Dr. Watanabe, whoever they are. The words in their book have done a lot to make him feel more grounded, more sane. He feels like he has to try, at least, to find them. 

That aside, life goes on. He returns to the boxing gym, spends time with Kagami, follows the news about Takumu, spends time with Ren, and works at Broadcast. 

He's actually pretty busy… so much so that he nearly forgets about his annual checkup appointment. 

Dr. Takemi raises an eyebrow when she comes out of the examination room and sees him trying to catch his breath by the entrance to her clinic. "Did you run here?"

"Of course not," Goro wheezes. 

Dr. Takemi only shakes her head and turns around. "Well, come on in."

Goro follows her. Dr. Takemi is the one who handled his care after his accident, and she's still the only medical professional he trusts. If she ever decides to move her practice out of Tokyo, he's pretty much fucked. The thought of going to anyone else makes his skin crawl. 

"How are things with Sae?" Goro asks cheerfully as he sits down on the examination table. 

"You don't have to say it like you're going to embarrass me. I'm perfectly willing to tell you all about our relationship. Let's see… we had a little argument last week, but we made up after having an emotional conversation about our dreams and fears. Would you like me to tell you about it?"

"...Just draw my blood already."

He endures an hour or so of Dr. Takemi's brutal bedside manner and comes out of it at the end with probably only a few future bruises and a clean bill of health. 

"And how's your hearing been? Have you noticed any deterioration?" Dr. Takemi asks him as she takes some notes. 

Goro stretches. "No."

"Very good. In that case, I think we're done here." Takemi sets her clipboard down. "Unless there's anything else?"

"I don't think so."

"All right, then. Congratulations, you've made it through another year."

"My thanks." Goro gets up and tries not to wince. 

Dr. Takemi opens the door to the room, and Goro goes through it. She follows him and starts to ask him a question, but they're interrupted by a sudden voice.

"Ahem."

Takemi looks up, and her eyes immediately narrow. "Ah," she says. "You again."

Goro turns around and comes face-to-face with a tall, smiling man. He's maybe in his thirties, with meticulously-styled hair, expensive-looking shoes, and a coat hanging off his shoulders. "Dr. Takemi," he says. "I just happened to be in the area."

"And you thought you couldn't leave without trying one more time."

The man laughs. "Can you blame me?" 

Goro is beginning to think he should leave, but he hasn't said goodbye to Dr. Takemi yet. And besides, he's instantly curious about who this man might be. He decides to cut in. "Hello," he says, addressing the man who hasn't acknowledged him whatsoever. 

The man's eyes flicker over to him for the first time. Goro smiles. "I'm Goro Akechi. And you are?"

The man gazes at him, expression blank, for just a moment before he smiles back. "Well, hi there. My name is Kida. Kida Asakura."

"...Kida Asakura?"

"Heard of me, kid?" The man laughs. 

Goro hasn't been demeaningly called _kid_ in quite a while. How interesting. "You're part of the Lodestar Corporation, aren't you? Yours is the name at the bottom of all the emails I get."

"Well, what do you know?" Asakura turns to Takemi. "Doctor, you've got a smart one here. You better make sure you watch out for his health!" 

"Ha ha," says Takemi flatly.

"But wait," Asakura says, leaning closer to Goro. "If you've been getting communication signed with my name, they have to be recruitment emails."

"Recruitment emails?"

"Right! The ones we send out to promising potential members of the Lodestar team. Hmmm… but have you responded to them?"

"No, actually," says Goro, "I haven't."

"You haven't," Asakura echoes. "Well, why not?"

"I simply haven't had the time, I suppose. My apologies."

Asakura laughs. "You haven't had time! Akechi– that's your name, right? Akechi, not everybody gets those emails. And many, many young men your age would love to work with Lodestar. Sure, I might be biased–" he actually winks– "but I think it's something you won't want to pass up."

"I don't–" 

"Tell you what. Next month we're having one of our employment outreach events. You can learn all there is to know about working at Lodestar. I'll put you on the invitation list. You'll come, won't you?"

"Well–" 

"No ifs, ands, or buts! I want to see you there! You'll get an email with more information. Okay?"

Wow. Goro really hates this guy. 

"Mr. Asakura," Dr. Takemi says sharply. "Needling me is one thing, but I'll thank you to leave my patients alone."

"All right, all right. Just take this," Asakura says. He teaches into his breast pocket and pulls out his card, then hands it to Goro. 

Goro states at it while Asakura turns his attention back to Takemi. "So, Doctor… still not interested?"

"Not at all."

"Hm. Well, I won't force you, but I _really_ think you should–"

"If you're done, I have other patients to see."

Asakura laughs. "Right to the point as always. All right, then. Goodbye, Doctor. Maybe we'll run into each other another time." He glances at Goro. "Nice to meet you, Akechi. Remember– next month!"

Takemi doesn't reply. Asakura laughs again, waves a hand farewell, and goes out the door. 

"Well," Goro says.

"Don't even get me started." Takemi runs a hand through her hair.

"That man," Goro says. "He said he's a recruiter. Have you caught Lodestar's interest?"

"Apparently. They have a pharmaceuticals division, which I know more about than I ever wanted to, and they found out about me after your friend cleared my name." Takemi looks irate. "You know, sometimes I miss when everyone thought I was a fraud. At least I had my anonymity. I keep my own small clinic here because I have no desire to get involved with medical politics– not again. And corporate drama sounds even worse." Takemi shakes her head. 

Goro frowns. "How often does he come here?"

"That was the third time." She scowls. "I'm getting a little tired of telling him to fuck off, if you'll pardon my French."

"You know, I used to be a hitman."

"Each time you make that joke, I get a little less certain you're actually joking," Takemi says. "Anyway, what about you? Going to put that… whatever the hell it was in your calendar next month?"

"I doubt it. I didn't have any personal interest in Lodestar before this, and meeting that man certainly didn't change my mind." At all. 

"He is a scumbag, isn't he?" Takemi leans against the wall and crosses her arms. "At the same time, though… I wonder. I've heard about some of their outreach efforts. Through that other organization they run."

"Lotus," Goro says. "It's technically a separate not-for-profit foundation, but so have I."

"Hm," Takemi says. "They could use you there, I bet. You could do some good."

“Do some good?”

“Sure. I bet you’d be good at it.” Takemi checks her watch. “All right, kid.” Somehow it’s not offensive at all when she says it. “I hope I don’t see you for a while. Stay healthy.”

“I will. Take care.” Goro bows. 

As he leaves the clinic, and makes his way towards the train station, he thinks about the encounter with Asakura again. He remembers talking about Lodestar with Ren. When was that? A few months ago?

He’s been trying to figure out a way to get better and do better at the same time, and it’s the most difficult thing he’s ever had to do. It’s not easy, not with Goro being… the way he is. And beggars can’t be choosers, can they? 

His phone suddenly buzzes with a notification. Goro checks it. 

It's an email– from Lodestar, giving him the details of the event next month. Asakura must have sent it immediately. 

"Damn it," Goro murmurs to himself. 

He already knows what he's going to do. 

* * *

A week later, he's walking home when a noise suddenly makes him stop.

...A rather loud noise. It distinctly sounds like a metal trash can lid falling to the ground, followed by somebody bellowing "Ow!"

Goro frowns and turns around to double back, making sure to move carefully. He still remembers that prior incident, when he thought he was being followed, near an alley just like this one.

Could it be a coincidence?

Goro turns the corner and raises his eyebrows as he takes in the scene before him. There's a man, someone who looks to be about Goro's age, wincing on the ground, the lid of the trash can a few feet away, having seemingly rolled there. Goro isn't exactly sure what happened here.

"Are… you all right?" he calls out to the man, a little warily.

The man looks over it him. And then his face changes– he's squinting at Goro, like he's trying to see him better. Then, slowly, he gets to his feet. 

Goro unconsciously takes a step backwards. There's something in the man's look he doesn't like. It's been a while since he last fought, but he could take this guy, couldn't he? He doesn't seem very strong. Goro clenches his fists. 

"It's you, isn't it?" the man says suddenly. He steps closer, and Goro's able to get a good look at him for the first time. 

He looks… almost startlingly average, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. His hair is fairly short, dark, spiky, a little messy. The only thing that really stands out about him is his wide eyes and the grin slowly forming on his face. 

“I knew it!" The man's voice rises in excitement, and his next words catch Goro so off-guard he steps out of his fighting stance. "It really is you! You’re Goro Akechi!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my head I was imagining the website Goro helps Ren use as a cursed amalgam of Facebook, Twitter and LinkedIn  
> the quote Yusuke recites from the Daodejiing is from the Hackett Classics edition, translated by Addis & Lombardo (the edition I had to use for class)!  
> I don’t really know how big companies work and I’m going to be honest with you. I probably am just going to make it up.  
> as always thank you so much for reading !! <3

**Author's Note:**

> by the way, the title’s from a lyric in “tape song” by the kills. within the context of the song, i think it fits well with this story.  
> anyway, once more: thanks so much for reading!


End file.
